


Everything We Are

by JangJaeYul



Series: Everything We Are [1]
Category: EXO (Band), 极限挑战 | Go Fighting! (TV)
Genre: 1980s, Anal Sex, Ballet, Bee Gees, Blow Jobs, Bottom Byun Baekhyun, First Kiss, First Time, Gay Panic, M/M, Mao's Last Dancer, Non-Graphic Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Top Zhang Yi Xing | Lay, repeated line: "you're a lawyer", seriously count the Bee Gees references there's way too many
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 02:48:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14227440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JangJaeYul/pseuds/JangJaeYul
Summary: The year is 1980, and Yixing has been invited to join the Seattle Ballet's summer programme as an exchange student from the Beijing Dance Academy. Baekhyun is a Korean-Canadian-American soloist with a wide smile and a reckless enthusiasm for life, dance, and Yixing's jetés. The language barrier is the least of their worries.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ticket No. 483  
> Warnings: Period-accurate racism and homophobia, non-graphic violence.  
> Pairing: Baekhyun/Yixing  
> Side Paring: Xiumin/Luhan  
> Time Period: 1980  
> Author's Note: This is basically a Mao's Last Dancer AU. If you've read the book or seen the movie... this is essentially the gay version of it. (If you've read the book or seen the movie, you'll also know who Mr. Peterson is in real life.)

The moment he stepped onto the tarmac, Yixing found himself deposited into a whirl of confusion. The airport was huge, endless, and every face looked the same. It was like navigating through a maze of clones. He couldn’t even remember which face he was looking for, couldn’t be sure he’d be able to find it among all this mess.

“Zhang!”

Yixing looked around wildly.

“Zhang, over here!”

Yixing turned a full circle and finally located him: standing in the middle of the hall, holding a sign bearing Yixing’s name in shaky Chinese, was the Artistic Director of the Seattle Ballet.

“Ah!” He hurried over to bow and shake the Director’s hand. “Mr. Peterson. Hello.”

“Did you have a good flight?”

“Yes - very good.”

“Excellent!” Mr. Peterson picked up Yixing’s bag and gestured towards the exit. “Shall we?”

_Shall we what?_ Yixing wondered, but it seemed he was meant to simply nod and follow Mr. Peterson out of the building into the cool American sunlight.

It was an instant shock, how different the light felt here. Far from the beautiful blue skies of Beijing, this was a sun forced to filter through ten layers of cloud before it reached the earth. His school teacher had been right, Yixing thought - the Americans really did live in miserable darkness.

He lifted his suitcase into the back of Mr. Peterson’s car and slid into the front seat. This car was fancy, he observed - almost frighteningly so. The dashboard looked like it was made of shining, polished wood, and Yixing folded his hands in his lap to resist the urge to reach out and touch it.

“Would you like to listen to the radio?”

Yixing stared at the dashboard. A radio in the car? Mr. Peterson must be even more important than Yixing had thought. “Thank you.”

Mr. Peterson turned a knob, and Yixing jumped as music began blaring from the speakers. What _was_ this? This was not music, this was a cacophony of torture! Mr. Peterson did not seem to notice, just turned the volume down a notch and turned to look over his shoulder as he put the car into reverse.

“What… what is this?” Yixing asked, trying to keep the distaste from his voice.

“Hm?” Mr. Peterson glanced at him. “Oh, this is Blondie. Do you like it?”

Yixing shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

Mr. Peterson laughed. “I imagine you have very different music in China.”

Yixing nodded. This screaming would never make it onto a Chinese radio station. Yixing tried to imagine it playing between the news updates and dramas, the inspiring stories that portrayed the successes of the hardworking Chinese people. He couldn’t even conjure the juxtaposition in his mind.

They drove along highways and suburban streets. The whole way, Yixing searched the scenery for something, anything, that was even remotely familiar. He found nothing. The cars were different. The buildings were different. Even the trees were different.

What had he gotten himself into?

-

“And this is your room.”

Mr. Peterson pushed the door open and flicked the lights on. Yixing’s jaw dropped. The room was huge, presumably in order to accommodate the giant bed in the middle. It was almost intimidatingly large, at least thigh-high, but there didn’t appear to be any storage cupboards underneath it - it was all bed.

“This is… all for me?”

“Yes.” Mr. Peterson’s voice was as patient and reassuring as ever, but there seemed to be an undercurrent of amusement that Yixing couldn’t quite interpret. “Some of the desk drawers have files in them, but you are free to use the others, and of course the wardrobe is all empty for you to use.”

Yixing just nodded. He wasn’t sure whether it would be polite to tell Mr. Peterson that this room was more than half the size of his family’s house in Changsha, and that back home he would have shared a sleeping platform that size with three of his brothers.

“I’ll let you unpack, Zhang,” Mr. Peterson continued. “I’ll just be out in the kitchen, so when you’re hungry just come on out and I’ll have lunch ready for you. Oh, and your bathroom is just through that door if you need it.”

Mr. Peterson retreated and closed the door behind him with a soft click. Yixing stood and stared around the room. All of this space just for him. How was one person supposed to fill a room this large?

With a flicker of curiosity, he crossed the room. He thought he’d heard Mr. Peterson say, “your bathroom,” which he must have misunderstood. That would mean there was a whole bathroom all for him behind this door-

\-- _Oh my god._

Beyond the door was indeed a bathroom. Not just a toilet, or a sink, but a whole room with a bathtub and a chair that, upon inspection, contained a toilet within it. _Ah_. Yixing had heard about these American toilets. You were supposed to just sit on them rather than squatting normally. He was glad he’d been prepared before coming face-to-face with one, because looking at it now he thought he probably would have ended up hurting himself if he’d tried to balance on that narrow platform.

He turned away from the toilet and looked at the bath. The taps sticking out of the wall were all polished silver, not a trace of rust to be seen. The whole room looked too clean to be real, considering Mr. Peterson did not have a wife.

Yixing reached over and turned one of the taps until water began to gush from the spout. He observed it for a moment, then cautiously placed his hand under the stream. He wasn’t sure whether to expect it to hurt him - who knew what acid the Americans might have in their water? - but nothing happened, and after a moment the water began to warm, heating and heating until it almost burned Yixing’s hand. Hot water straight from the tap! He would never have thought to see such a thing in an ordinary house.

Yixing took off his clothes and climbed into the bath to scrub himself clean, then put the plug into the drain and sat watching the stream while the tub filled with water. When it was up to his armpits he turned off the tap, lay back, and closed his eyes.

For the first time since he had boarded the plane in Beijing, Yixing allowed some of the nervous worry to drip out of his body. He couldn’t spend his entire stay in America in a constant state of tension, and there was no better time to begin relaxing than right here in this enormous bathtub full of hot, soft water. His mama could have washed him and all his brothers at once in this tub, he thought absently.

Just like that, the enormity of his isolation tumbled down on him all at once. Yixing felt very, very alone.

-

The Seattle Ballet wasn’t all that different in size from Madame Mao’s Academy in Beijing - if anything, it was a touch smaller - but it felt overwhelming as Yixing wandered through the halls looking for an empty practice room. Whereas the Academy had been one large building, four storeys tall and nicely accessible by a grid of staircases and corridors, this was a giant, sprawling complex, comprising several two- and three-storey buildings connected by walkways and overbridges across the main road that ran between them.

He was sure by now he was into the more serious part of the building, the area where there were fewer summer students like himself and more contracted soloists, guest dancers, and the corps de ballet. Perhaps he shouldn’t be here, but no-one had turned him around yet so he thought he was probably safe to keep walking until it became clear he was in the wrong place.

Yixing glanced through the window in the door of one of the smaller studios and, judging it empty, turned the handle. Upon breaking the soundproof seal of the room, though, he realised it was not unoccupied at all - soft music was playing from the stereo in the corner, and a single dancer was spinning across the floor.

He should have immediately closed the door and moved on, carried on down the corridor and looked for another studio, but Yixing hesitated for a second, eyes on the dancer. How was he keeping his balance? He was moving with his eyes closed, turning in a slow circle, leg in _attitude derrière_ and head tilted to the side as if the line of his spine felt compelled to continue through his chin rather than his head.

What struck Yixing most of all, though, was not the dancer’s technique; it was the music to which he moved. This was not the classical orchestra of all the ballets Yixing had ever learnt. Nor was it the avant-garde, discordant soundtrack Mr. Peterson seemed to favour for his more modern pieces. This was a song that Yixing thought he could almost picture on the radio back home. A chorus of women with sharp, silvery voices warbled a sweet tune, raising the hairs on Yixing’s arms in harmonies that soared and settled along his skin.

Yixing could not pick any words out of the women’s unfamiliar, lyrical accents, but there was something about the music that ached through his bones.

As the song faded, Yixing realised he was still standing in the doorway, watching the dancer step and pivot and dip into a final arabesque, all with his eyes closed. He lifted his foot, about to step out and close the door softly behind him before the dancer could open his eyes and notice him.

“Do you need the room?”

Yixing froze. The dancer was turning to face him, pleasant and friendly, as if they had been in the middle of a conversation.

“Oh- no- no, I’m sorry, thank you, sorry-” mortified, Yixing bowed and began to back out of the room.

The dancer waved a hand. “Come on in.”

Yixing hesitated. He was torn between the urge to extract himself from this awkward situation and the instinct to obey as a basic point of courtesy.

It was only as he stepped forward into the room that he noticed. Perhaps he had been mesmerised by the fluidity of that dancing, or maybe it was the comforting familiarity of that face, but suddenly he realised that familiar was out of place here, and in that moment it popped into place - the dancer was Chinese too.

“What’s your name?” the dancer asked him.

“Zhang Yixing,” Yixing said. His heart bumped up into his throat, waiting for the dancer to smile, to recognise his accent, to greet him in his own language and welcome him to this pocket of familiarity in such a strange country.

“Baekhyun Byun,” the dancer said instead. “Nice to meet you.”

Yixing’s heart fell back into its usual place and beyond. That wasn’t a Chinese name.

“Nice to meet you,” he echoed.

“Are you one of the summer students?” Baekhyun asked.

Yixing nodded.

“Where are you from?”

“China.” Even in a foreign language, Yixing felt the pride on his tongue.

Baekhyun raised his eyebrows. “No way. That’s pretty cool, man.”

Yixing frowned at him. Why was Baekhyun saying no? What did _cool_ mean in this situation? So many questions, and he didn’t have the words to articulate any of them in English.

“Do you need to put your music on?” Baekhyun jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the stereo in the corner.

“Oh- no.” Yixing shook his head. Music was for when he had the steps perfect, and he didn’t yet.

“Alright, cool.”

That word again. Yixing watched Baekhyun saunter over to the stereo and eject a cassette from it, then fold himself onto the floor and pull his feet towards him in a perfectly flat butterfly.

“You don’t mind if I watch, do you?”

Yixing blinked at him. He was used to being observed, certainly, but the casual way Baekhyun drew himself back against the mirror felt less like an evaluation and more like simple, easy-going curiosity. It seemed so out of line with everything Yixing knew about ballet. Nothing about this art was easy-going.

Baekhyun was smiling at him now, his hands looped over the barre above his head, the absolute picture of relaxation.

Okay, Yixing thought, if this not-Chinese man wanted to watch with such carelessness, then he could watch. Let him see what the hard work of Madame Mao and her Academy could achieve.

Yixing closed his eyes for a moment to bring himself into focus, then took up his preparatory position and began.

He had learnt these steps just yesterday, and they were not yet ingrained into his muscles - he tried to keep the concentration off his face, tried to keep his expression neutral as he thought through each spin, from _sissonne_ to _sauté arabesque_ to _jeté entrelacé_ without breaking the line of his brow.

That _fouetté_ could have been tighter, he thought as he finished, his spotting on the _pirouette_ wasn’t quite precise enough, and he’d lost awareness of his foot for a moment halfway into the _pas de chat_ \- but other than that, it was workable.

“Wooh!”

Yixing jumped as Baekhyun smacked his hands together.

“Nice! That _jeté_ , man, I am seriously digging your air. This the kinda shit they teach you in China?”

There were at least half a dozen words in there that Yixing didn’t catch, but the overall tone sounded positive.

“Yes,” he said. “I learned to dance in China.”

“Shiiit,” Baekhyun whistled. “I need to get myself on the next plane to Beijing. Assuming I can survive the communism and all that. Whaddaya think, Zhang, does this face look suitably Chinese? Could I pass for one of you?”

Yixing took a moment to pick the meaning out of that. Something about communism - praise, presumably - and a question.

“No,” he decided. “Too American. Too loud, not polite. Not Chinese.” Or rather, he wished he had the words to explain, not the kind of Chinese that represented the ideals of the people.

Baekhyun laughed, flopping forward over his feet and chuckling with his chest on his ankles. “Too loud, not polite,” he guffawed. “Sounds like me, yeah.”

“Where are you from?” Yixing asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

“Right here!” Baekhyun declared, sitting up and resting back against the mirror again. “Seattle, born and raised. My mom’s Canadian, though, so I’m technically that too. Oh, or do you mean the family in general? Korea. Like. A hundred years ago.”

_Korea._ Yixing nodded. That was the answer he was looking for.

“So you’re over here for the summer, right?” Baekhyun continued. “Are you staying with a host family?”

“I stay with Mr. Peterson.”

“Wait, Mr. Peterson?” Baekhyun leaned forward. “As in Thomas Peterson, the Artistic Director? Woah.” He turned his head to look sideways at Yixing. “I thought you were a summer student!”

Yixing nodded. “Yes. Mr. Peterson invited me to study here for the summer.”

“Okay, okay.” Baekhyun scrambled to his feet, one hand out towards Yixing as if to stop him. “See, when I think of summer students, it’s the kids who apply and give references from their teachers and pay a whole lot of money to be here for three months. Not _personally invited by Thomas and staying at his house_. Geez Louise, you must be special.”

Yixing didn’t know how to respond to that. Yes, Mr. Peterson had selected him from among his classmates to join the Seattle Ballet for the summer programme, and his teachers had approved him to take up that invitation, but Yixing put that down more to their excellent teaching than to anything spectacular on his part.

“Show me that _jeté_ again,” Baekhyun said. “I wanna see your head touch the ceiling.”

Yixing looked up at the high ceiling doubtfully. “I cannot jump this high.”

Baekhyun laughed. “Oh, you’re funny too. Special and funny. Come on, show me your dance again!”

-

“So I’m guessing if you’ve just arrived for the summer, you don’t have any friends in town, huh?”

Yixing shook his head as he pulled on the sweater Mr. Peterson had given him with SEATTLE BALLET printed across the front. It was an odd sort of sweater - it had a funny folded flap attached to it that Yixing wasn’t sure what to do with.

“You wanna come hang out with me and my friends?” Baekhyun offered. He zipped up his bag and straightened up holding a similar sweater, which he shrugged on and- _ohh, the flap was a hood_. Yixing reached behind himself and turned it the right way out, then pulled it up onto his head as he followed Baekhyun out of the practice room and down the hallway.

“There’s this bitchin bakery at the Pike Place Market where we all hang out,” Baekhyun continued, chatting happily over his shoulder as Yixing scuttled down the corridor after him. How could someone with such short legs take such long strides? “Best sandwiches you’ll ever have, they’re fab.”

Yixing was beginning to think that perhaps he hadn’t studied his dictionary closely enough. Baekhyun used so many strange words, and Yixing was finding himself overwhelmed by the sheer volume of unfamiliar language.

By the time they stepped off the bus, he decided there was no point in giving himself a headache trying to decipher everything Baekhyun said. It was better to just let the words wash over him and take in what he could.

“Over there!” Baekhyun declared, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder and pointing down the road. “Just round the corner.”

Yixing followed him across the street and into the Market building. This looked familiar, he thought - the vegetable markets back home looked a bit like this.

“There he is!” A voice rose above the chatter. “Baek, y’dork, where have you been?”

Baekhyun parted the crowd and smacked his hand to the back of one of the boys sitting on the stools at the counter. Yixing’s heart rocketed up into his throat again - more familiar features, eyes and hair and noses - and he told himself to calm down. These boys were probably Korean, like Baekhyun.

“Take a chill pill, Sehun, I had to take the bus from the studio. Look, I made a friend!” He reached back and grabbed Yixing by the elbow. “This is Zhang Yixing. He’s a special summer student - Thomas’s personal guest, apparently.”

This was met with a chorus of oohs from several of the boys seated at the counter.

“Zhang, these are my buds. Sehun Oh,” he indicated the man upon whose shoulder his hand was presently resting, “Minseok Kim, the cute fella at the end, and his special friend Han Lu-”

“Nah, nah, listen to this,” the boy leaned back from the counter and extended his hand towards Yixing, “call me… Luhan.”

Baekhyun snorted. “Your mononym is stupid and so are you, Lu.”

“Hey, if it works for Cher-!”

“Cher is more famous than you will _ever be_ -”

“Lu Han,” Yixing gasped, because that was a name that made sense to him. He stumbled forward to take the outstretched hand, bowing as he shook it. “Are you also here to spread the example of our beloved Chairman’s glorious communism?”

This was the phrase he had been taught for when people asked him why he was in America. _To dance with the Seattle Ballet and spread the example of our beloved Chairman’s glorious communism._

Lu gave a nervous little laugh. “I’m from San Francisco, dude.”

Yixing frowned at him. He had a Chinese face and a Chinese name, but his accent was as American as the other summer students in Yixing’s class.

“Lu’s the same as me,” Baekhyun explained. “No-one in his family’s set foot in the motherland in over a century.”

“If you can even still call it that,” Lu snorted. “Last time anyone from my family lived in China was during the Qing dynasty.”

“Last time anyone from my family lived in Korea it was one country,” Baekhyun laughed.

“I’m J.D.,” the next boy cut over them. “J.D. Kim. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you,” Yixing responded.

“You’re from China?” J.D. asked.

Yixing nodded.

“So you speak Chinese!”

Yixing had thought J.D. had already been smiling, but apparently that was just his face, because now his lips curled up like a cat as he smacked the shoulder of the man beside him.

\-- _Hello. I’m Luo Zhixiang._

Yixing’s throat squeezed around his heart for the third time today.

\-- _Hello! Nice to meet you!_

\-- _Nice to meet you. Welcome to America._

It was a strange accent, for sure, but the language was definitely his. Yixing clasped Zhixiang’s hand, unable to control the smile he could feel on his face.

\-- _Thank you. Are you from… Shanghai?_

Zhixiang laughed.

\-- _No, I’m from Taipei._

Yixing’s blood froze in his veins. Zhixiang was still grinning at him, still shaking Yixing’s hand with both of his own, and Yixing’s skin was crawling away from his touch. Taipei. _Taiwan._ A traitor, an enemy, and Yixing was greeting him like an old friend.

\-- _It’s okay, comrade,_ Zhixiang reassured him. -- _I have no interest in swaying you from the teachings of the beloved Chairman._

Yixing frowned. Zhixiang’s words sounded sincere, but that smile was still on his face, pleasant and mirthful and hiding any number of poisons.

\-- _I love Chairman Mao,_ was all he could think to say.

\-- _And so you should._ Zhixiang squeezed his hand tighter and smiled more firmly.

“What do you think they’re talking about?”

Yixing tuned in on the whisper at his shoulder.

“I dunno. They’ve been shaking hands for like a minute.”

“Maybe this is just how they say hi there.”

\-- _I am pleased to meet you here in America as a friend,_ Zhixiang said.

Yixing heard what he didn’t say. He nodded, Zhixiang patted him on the shoulder, and they parted to turn back to the rest of the group. Yixing tried not to wipe his hand on the front of his sweater.

“You two okay there?” Baekhyun asked. He seemed amused, leaning an elbow on Sehun’s shoulder.

“Wow, I’m so excited to meet a friend who can speak Chinese!” Zhixiang said. “So where did you two meet? At the ballet?”

“Yeah,” Baekhyun said. “He walked into my practice room and showed me his _jetés_. I was hooked instantly.”

“Showed you his _jetés_ , huh?” Zhixiang raised an eyebrow. “Sounds interesting.”

Yixing looked at Zhixiang. “Do you like ballet?”

“I like ballet _dancers_ ,” Zhixiang grinned.

“Ballet dancers work very hard,” Yixing agreed. Baekhyun was chortling into Sehun’s shoulder, his fist almost stuffed into his mouth and his face beginning to turn red. Perhaps Sehun had whispered a joke into his ear, Yixing thought.


	2. Chapter 2

“Zhang!”

Yixing turned and brought himself back to neutral. Baekhyun was pushing open the door of the practice room, gym bag slung over his shoulder and a beaming smile on his face.

“Zhang, buddy, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“You have?” Yixing adjusted the strap of his leotard. “Why?”

“To practise with you, doofus.”

Yixing blinked at him. Maybe he was misunderstanding. He and Baekhyun had no dances in common - why would they need to practise together?

“I wanna absorb some of that sweet Chinese training,” Baekhyun continued. “I’ve decided if I practise with you, it’s almost as good as going to Chairman Mao’s academy myself!”

_Madame_ Mao’s academy, Yixing thought, but did not correct him. “What is your dance?”

“I’ve got a _pas de deux_ ,” Baekhyun said. “The two merchants, eyeing up their ladies in the town square.”

Yixing nodded. He was familiar with the ballet the company was staging this summer - except that when he had performed it at the Academy the merchants had been soldiers, and instead of waiting until they were rich to propose to the women, they had been waiting until they returned from war having secured the safety of all the Chinese people.

“I wanna see your solo,” Baekhyun said. “I’ve been thinking about those _jetés_.”

Yixing nodded and returned to his beginning position. As Baekhyun gave a little hiss of approval and scuttled over to the front of the room to watch, he closed his eyes and drew a centering breath.

Baekhyun was a responsive audience. Every _fouetté_ was met with a whispered cheer, every _tour en l’air_ softly applauded.

“Nice,” Baekhyun confirmed when Yixing stepped out of his final pose. “I like it. Teach me to be like you.”

Instead of waiting for Yixing to respond, he got up and stretched his legs.

“Alright, it’s my turn. Stand over there and be my lady, Zhang.”

Yixing frowned. “You don’t want me to dance the other merchant?”

“Nah,” Baekhyun shook his head. “The partner work is minimal. I just need to have a fixed point to make eyes at.”

Yixing nodded and went to stand where Baekhyun indicated. He wasn’t sure what Baekhyun meant by “make eyes,” but he tried to keep eye contact as much as possible, standing still and captivated as Baekhyun danced.

This was a different sort of dance from the one he had seen the other day. Baekhyun’s steps were cheeky, almost comical, every _attitude_ saturated with attitude. He seemed reckless, spinning with careless abandon, and yet his footwork was so precise, so light, that even to Yixing it looked like he barely touched the ground between _pas de chat_ and _cabriole_.

Baekhyun danced with his heart, Yixing realised. His body was simply the instrument through which he gave it the stage.

When Baekhyun turned to him, grinning despite the slight heave of his shoulders, he tried to voice this as best he could.

“This dance… very different. Is very different from yesterday.”

“From yesterday?” Baekhyun cocked his head.

_No, it wasn’t yesterday._ “Two yesterdays.” That wasn’t how you said it in English. It wasn’t even how you said it in Chinese. Yixing’s words were escaping him.

“The day before yesterday,” Baekhyun supplied.

“The day before yesterday,” Yixing confirmed. _Sure, let’s go with that._ “You danced… more slow. More… sensitive heart.”

“Oh!” Baekhyun looked away, then glanced back at Yixing with a bashful little grin. “Yeah, I was… that was just me messing around.”

“I like that dance.”

“It wasn’t really a _dance_ ,” Baekhyun said. “I was just. I was just moving.”

“I like it,” Yixing insisted. “I did _jeté_ for you. You do _just moving_ for me.”

Baekhyun laughed. “Fair enough. You win.”

He turned and ducked to pull a cassette out of his bag, then crossed to the far corner and slotted it into the stereo.

The sound of trumpets filled the practice room. Baekhyun stepped back from the stereo and paused, stepped back again, then turned and spun in a slow circle, left foot _cou-de-pied_. He looked up from his leading hand and caught Yixing’s eye. Yixing wasn’t sure what his own face was doing, but whatever it was, it made Baekhyun smile at him as he scooped his arms through a low _bras bas_ and into a _développé_.

He really was different this way, Yixing thought. The cheeky humour was gone, and his steps, though still precise, were slower and softer, seeming more to sweep than to shoot into position.

As the chorus of silver-voiced women faded into the hiss of the tape, Baekhyun turned in a final _attitude_ and stepped into an _arabesque penché_. His fingers swept towards the floor, almost grazing the boards before rising to bring him back, until he was almost upright and could open his eyes to look straight at Yixing.

“There you go,” he said, too soft to be casual. “Just moving.”

“You have many different hearts,” Yixing breathed. “One heart funny. One heart beautiful. And you change like-” he snapped his fingers.

Baekhyun grinned down at his feet. “Just different music.”

“I like this music,” Yixing said. “Beautiful women. Who are they?”

Baekhyun laughed, eyes sparkling as he looked up at Yixing. “These women?” He jerked his head over his shoulder at the stereo. “The Bee Gees.”

“Lovely ladies,” Yixing nodded. “Pretty voices.”

“I’m sure they’d be flattered to hear that,” Baekhyun grinned.

“Do you have more of this music?”

Baekhyun shook his head. “Just this one song. I recorded it off the radio. But I know where we can hear more.”

-

When Baekhyun had mentioned a _club_ , Yixing had thought about the activity groups the students used to take part in at school. He had imagined a music club, where they would sit and listen to more cassettes of the Bee Gees, the ladies with voices spun of silver. He had imagined how they might discuss the music, and thought how he could learn some English words to describe the way the song made him feel.

He had not expected this.

They were in a room that was simultaneously dark and blinding - coloured lights shot out from the ceiling and walls, catching Yixing right in the eyes and making him squint at the drink J.D. set in front of him.

“What is this?” he asked. He could barely even hear his own voice, the music was so loud.

“Coca Cola!” J.D. yelled back. “Try it, it’s good!”

Yixing eyed the glass. He couldn’t tell if it was just the light or if the drink was actually black. He brought the straw to his lips and took a tiny sip.

_Oh-_

J.D. laughed. “Not a fan?”

Yixing pushed the glass away with barely concealed disgust. “I don’t like it.”

“That’s okay.” J.D. took the straw out of the glass and raised the whole thing to his lips. “We’ll get you an orange juice or something.”

Yixing followed J.D.’s eyes over his shoulder towards the dance floor. Minseok was dancing with Lu, arms around his neck and a giddy smile on his face half-concealed by the sweep of his hair. He must really love dancing, Yixing thought, even though he and Lu were really only swaying back and forth. Sehun and Zhixiang were next to them, doing something that looked simultaneously highly choreographed and completely improvised, with lots of wiggling and waving arms.

“You wanna dance?” J.D. asked.

Yixing shook his head. He had no idea how to do this kind of dancing, all hands and hips and no real steps. No control. He was worried about the others hurting themselves.

“Yo!” Baekhyun barrelled into the table with two more drinks in his hands. “What do you think of the Coke, Zhang? It’s good right?”

“No,” Yixing said, glaring at the now-empty glass in front of J.D., “it hurts.”

Baekhyun just chuckled. “Gets up your nose, huh? Wait till you try whiskey.”

“We’re _not_ giving him whiskey,” J.D. said. “Stop corrupting the foreign nationals, Baek.”

“Ah, relax. Zhang’s a big boy.” Baekhyun raised his glass and shot Yixing a wink over the rim.

As J.D. gave a long-suffering sigh, the lights all spun in a colourful whirl and a new song began to play.

“Ooh!” Baekhyun set his glass down on the table and held out his hand to Yixing. “Zhang, c’mon, let’s dance!”

Yixing shook his head. “I don’t-”

“You wanted more of the beautiful women, right? This is them!”

He grabbed Yixing by the wrist and dragged him away from the table and towards Sehun and Zhixiang, who were doing another highly synchronised improvisation.

“Yeah, Zhang!” Sehun called, turning slightly to open their duo up into a _pas de quatre_. He started doing his weird hand movements at Baekhyun, who returned them with gusto.

Watching from this close, Yixing realised that the dance was mostly just pointing in different directions: up to the right, down to the left, up to the right, down to the left - then change, left hand now - up to the left, down to the right, up to the left, down to the right. He started copying them, trying and failing to imitate the easy swing of Baekhyun’s hips.

“Yes!” Baekhyun turned towards him and began spinning his arms together, twisting them over and over like a motor driving the rolls of his body. “You’re getting the hang of it!”

Yixing found himself smiling, laughing even, as Baekhyun swung his hips in circles.

“Night fever, night fever!” Baekhyun sang.

“We know how to do it!” Sehun responded.

Zhixiang sidled up beside Yixing and nudged him in the shoulder with one jiving arm.

\-- _It’s funny, isn’t it?_

Yixing nodded.

\-- _I’ll never get used to the music they listen to in this country._

Zhixiang laughed.

\-- _Yes you will. It takes you awhile, but one morning you wake up with this beat stuck in your head, and there’s no going back from there._

Yixing pulled a face, and Zhixiang laughed at him again.

The song changed again, and Baekhyun grabbed Yixing by the wrist again.

“Oh shit, this one’s my song.”

“Ah-!” Yixing found himself pulled off-balance, falling towards Baekhyun, who took both of his hands and began pulling him side-to-side.

“ _Jive talkin-_ c’mon, Zhang, shake it out- _Jive talkin-_ ”

Yixing tried to match Baekhyun’s feet, following his lead in stepping forwards, sideways, little diagonal hops with their arms pushing and pulling back and forth.

“Nice!” Baekhyun laughed, “You’re a natural!”

Yixing knew he was lying. He could feel the stiffness of his own hips, the careful control of a decade spent at the Academy that was impossible to shake. But Baekhyun was smiling regardless, pulling Yixing by the hands to move him the way he wanted him, and Yixing found himself grinning back as they twisted and hopped together.

When the song finished, Yixing stepped back and let go of Baekhyun’s hands. “Too much! Too much of this dance.”

Baekhyun chuckled and linked his arm through Yixing’s elbow to steer him back to the table where J.D. was sitting with Minseok and Lu.

“Did you have fun?” Minseok asked.

“This dancing is hard,” Yixing said. “No control. No line. Just move, wobble, shake.”

“Move, wobble, shake,” Baekhyun laughed. “See, what did I tell you guys? Special and funny.” He patted Yixing on the back, then shoved him onto a barstool and selected a glass from the collection in the middle to slide towards him. “Here, buddy. I think this is just juice.” He gave it a sniff and nodded. “Apple juice. This won’t hurt your face as much.”

Yixing took a cautious sip of the drink, then nodded gratefully and took a huge gulp. “Yes. Thank you.”

“No worries.” Baekhyun patted his shoulder again. “Man, they’re playing all my favourite songs tonight! The DJ knows Baekkie’s in the house.”

Lu rolled his eyes. “Baekhyun’s a huge Bee Gees fanboy,” he explained to Yixing.

“The things I would let Robin do to me,” Baekhyun sighed, staring off into the distance with a half-lidded smile.

“You’re disgusting,” Minseok said. “We’re in public.”

“Doesn’t seem to stop you two,” Baekhyun pointed out.

J.D. hushed him with a glare. “Keep it down.”

“Sit on it, J.D.,” Baekhyun said. “It’s so loud in here, you think anyone’s gonna hear me?”

Yixing could have sworn he saw J.D.’s eyes dart in his direction, but maybe it was just the light.

“Not everyone is as recklessly liberated as you,” J.D. said.

“Recklessly liberated,” Baekhyun smirked, lifting his glass and toasting J.D. with it. “Two words to describe me. What was it you called me the other day, Zhang? Loud and rude, or something like that. Loud, rude, and recklessly liberated. The title of my autobiography right there.”

“God forbid you ever become infamous enough to have an autobiography,” Minseok said. “I’ll change my name and move to Texas.”

“I’m _not_ moving to Texas,” Lu protested.

“Neither of you would survive a day in Texas,” Baekhyun said. “You’d be better off in Canada.”

“Eh,” Lu said, which for some reason made everyone at the table burst into gales of laughter. Yixing joined in under his breath, matching his smile to the general level of amusement even though he had no idea what the joke was.

Baekhyun smacked him between the shoulder blades with a hoot of glee. It was as if there were too much amusement in him to just laugh through his mouth - it had to come out through every part of his body. Yixing felt a momentary spark of envy in Lu’s direction, that he could elicit this reaction from Baekhyun.

He wondered how it felt to be the source of that mirth. Perhaps he should start keeping track of the things that made Baekhyun scream with laughter like this.

-

From behind him, the familiar click of the door. Yixing allowed himself the thought of a smile as he completed his _rond de jambe_ and dipped the resulting _arabesque_ into a _penché_ , his focus on that back foot, which still wasn’t elegantly pointed enough to satisfy him.

“This is new,” Baekhyun said. “What’s this, another solo?”

Yixing straightened up. _Bring that line back, don’t lose that string between finger and toe-_

“I have _pas de deux_ ,” he said, letting his foot touch the floor again and turning around. “In the garden. With the- the v- vine? And petals-”

“Oh!” Baekhyun’s eyes lit up. “Is that the one with the flower girl? I love that one!”

“You dance this too?”

“Nah,” Baekhyun shook his head. “But the summer students do it every year for their end-of-term. Thomas always gives it to his favourite pair. I guess this year that’s you and your lady!”

Yixing grinned. In spite of the instant urge he felt to negate that praise, there was a sparkle of joy in his chest at the idea of himself and his dance partner being Mr. Peterson’s favourite.

“Who are you dancing with?” Baekhyun asked.

Yixing shrugged “I don’t know. No, I- I know, but I don’t know.” He had met the girl, obviously, practised with her this morning and danced in the same class as her every other day besides, but her name had refused to make sense in his brain the first three times she had said it, and at this point he was embarrassed to ask her to repeat it again. “Small. Spots on face. Head on fire.”

“Head-!” Baekhyun doubled over laughing.

“What?” Yixing glared at him. Surely the girl’s appearance was not so ridiculous as to provoke that kind of reaction.

Baekhyun giggled into his own knees for a good minute while Yixing stood there frowning, then pushed himself upright and wiped his eyes.

“Freckles,” he said, still choking on a last chuckle. “Not spots, spots are-” he mimed popping a pimple. “And red hair.” He pressed the back of his hand to his eye again as another guffaw bubbled out of his chest. “Yes, I know the girl you mean. No, I’m not sure what her name is either.” He crossed to the front of the room and sat down on the floor, folding his legs up in front of him. “Alright, then. Let’s see it.”

Yixing gestured to the room. “You don’t want to dance?”

Baekhyun shook his head. “I’ve just come from practising with Minseok. I’m good.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s gone to see Lu,” Baekhyun said, “so I’ve come to see you!”

“Oh.” Yixing shifted from foot to foot for a second, then shrugged and took a step back to his starting position in the centre of the room.

_Sissonne, pas de bourrée, glissade jeté-_ Yixing tried to picture the girl in the room with him, because this was a romance, they were falling in love here, and so he focused on having someone to fall in love with, remembering her steps and trying to bring himself to where she would be with that _pas de chat_ , that _jeté_ …

Meeting in the middle of the room, coming together with the edge of the idea of a kiss, spin, pull, and then parting with a trailing hand, step step _jeté entrelacé_ , _tour piqué_ , _tour piqué_ , running back to meet her with another spin, then holding her for _fouetté_ , _fouetté_ , then catch her under the leg and carry her backwards, spin her out towards the far side of the room, _pas de chat_ , _jeté entrelacé_ , _pas de bourrée_ , _jeté_ , _bourrée_ , and now she should be turning to meet him as he descended upon her to catch her up in his arms and spin, holding her close, no such thing as spotting with her face so near, hold her, hold her, let her feet drift to the floor and slow to a finish as the music fades…

Baekhyun’s applause was startling in the stillness of the room.

“That was good!” he exclaimed, planting his feet and arching his back to push himself off the floor until he was standing. “What’s the bit in there where you’re picking her up? There’s some pirouettes or something and then you carry her back-”

“Ah, _fouetté_ -” Yixing demonstrated with one hand the two spins, then the action of scooping his partner up under her raised leg.

“Right, right.” Baekhyun tilted his head as if thinking. “I might have just been miscounting your internal metronome, but it looks like you’re coming in just a fraction late for that lift.”

Yixing blinked at him for a second, filtering out the words he didn’t understand.

“Ah. Late-”

“I think,” Baekhyun said. “I might be wrong. What’s the beat, is it five, six-” he stepped through the moves leading up to it - he really must have seen this dance a few times, to have an idea of the female steps - and motioned to Yixing to join in.

Yixing placed a hand on Baekhyun’s hip and spun with him for two counts, then caught him by the waist for one _fouetté_ , two, and then-

He smacked Baekhyun in the knee.

“Yeah, there.” Baekhyun turned and grabbed his hand to pull it back into that catching position. “You’re coming in just a quarter of a count too late, you gotta already be there by the time she arrives. Try it again, five, six-”

This time Yixing was too early and caught him on an angle, wobbling him almost off balance as he tried to pick him up.

“Ah, almost,” Baekhyun said. “This would be so much easier with the music.”

Yixing shrugged. “Music comes after steps. First practise. Then music.”

“Is that how you do it at the Academy?” Baekhyun asked. “Cause I dunno, man, that just seems like you’re making things unnecessarily hard on yourself.”

He turned and strode over to the stereo in the corner, pulled open the top drawer of the cabinet and started rummaging around in it.

“What…” Yixing trailed off as Baekhyun pulled out a cassette.

“I’m assuming Thomas has got you using the same music as always,” he said, slotting the cassette into place and pressing a button. He fiddled with the stereo, blaring snippets of music with every other click, until he found the start of the song. “Is it this one?” he called over the opening bars. When Yixing nodded, Baekhyun gave him a thumbs-up and rewound one more time to take it back to silence.

“You in that corner,” Yixing said, pointing upstage. “Me here.”

“Cool.” Baekhyun skipped into his starting position. “Let’s see if I’ve been paying close enough attention.”

The music bubbled up through the speakers, and Yixing unfolded into the dance.

_Cabriole_ , _pas de bourrée_ , _cabriole_ \- Yixing followed Baekhyun with his eyes as he glided down the length of the stage in a smooth _bourrée_. There should have been other steps in there, _chassés_ and _petit développés_ , but it seemed Baekhyun was focusing on the partnerwork and improvising the rest. He looked up and caught Yixing’s eyes to spot his _pirouette_ , and as his foot swept through to bring it into an _attitude_ his smile widened and flattened, becoming almost rectangular.

He was the strangest flower girl Yixing had ever seen.

_Cabriole_ \- Baekhyun had abandoned the ballerina’s choreography of _glissades_ and _développés_ and was in the middle of some kind of _rond de jambe en l'air_ that turned into a quick _fouetté_ and then an _arabesque penché_.

Yixing had no idea how Baekhyun managed to stray so far from the prescribed steps and still be there when Yixing needed him - _pas de chat_ , _jeté_ \- catching him by the hands, coming together with the edge of a kiss, spin, pull, parting with that trailing hand, lingering right to the very end of Yixing’s fingertips, and then they were off to the opposite sides of the stage - step step _jeté entrelacé_ , _tour piqué_ , _tour piqué_ \- that _grand jeté_ was the most majestic thing Yixing had ever seen, and then they were meeting again, hands on each other’s hips to spin for two counts.

Yixing caught his flower girl by the waist. _Fouetté_ , _fouetté_ , hand under the leg and scooped into his arms, carried backwards with their cheeks pressed together, one delicate hand pressed over his. Parting now, spinning out towards the far side of the room - _pas de chat_ , _jeté entrelacé_ , _pas de bourrée_ , _jeté_ , _bourrée_ \- Yixing turned and flew back to the centre of the room, arms ready to catch, to spin, no such thing as spotting, only these eyes so close to his. Holding, embracing, cradling that cheek in his palm, letting those feet drift to the floor, turning, holding, kissing, eyes closed and heart open…

A soft sigh of breath on his lips. Yixing drew it into his mouth as his hand slid from that warm cheek back into short, glossy hair-

Short hair?

_Oh god-_

“Ah!” Yixing snapped away. _Oh my god, oh no, oh no-_

This was no flower girl. This was Baekhyun, soft and warm and _male_ , and now he was standing there with wide eyes, his hand pressed to his mouth as if Yixing had burned him.

“I’m sorry!” Yixing fell to his knees, bowing to the floor as the heat in his chest washed up through his face. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, please-”

“Zhang!” Baekhyun’s hands pulled at his shoulders, trying to pry him off the ground. “Zhang, it’s okay, you don’t have to apologise-”

“I’m so sorry, I not mean to, so sorry-”

_It was the music, it was dancing with the music, it made you into this beautiful creature, this person I could love, and I swear this has never happened to me before, I don’t kiss all the girls I dance with, I’ve never kissed_ anyone _before-_ Yixing didn’t have the words for this in English, nor any in any other language that would make it past the choking grip of shame in his throat.

“Zhang, please-” Baekhyun dragged him up to his knees. “Please, Zhang, don’t- it’s not wrong, it’s not as shameful as everyone says it is, _please_ don’t be sorry, I-” he looked distraught now, betrayed, and of course Yixing had done this to him, of course he had hurt the one person in this awful, frightening country that he genuinely considered a friend.

“I didn’t mean to,” Yixing pleaded.

“Okay.” Somehow this made Baekhyun look even more distressed. “Don’t be ashamed of it, Zhang. Please. It’s really okay. It’s okay to do that, it’s okay to feel that-” he prised apart Yixing’s twisting hands and clasped one between both of his own. “It’s not shameful, I promise you.”

_Then why are you whispering?_

“We can forget about it if you want,” Baekhyun suggested. “We can pretend it didn’t happen. Would that be better? Let’s just say we finished the dance, we kept practising, I showed you what I worked on this morning with Minseok. That’s what happened. Nothing else.”

Yixing searched Baekhyun’s face for the undercurrent of hatred or disgust that he knew he deserved to see there. Somehow he couldn’t quite find it under all the concern and open-hearted distress.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Nothing happen. Just dance.”

“Just dance,” Baekhyun agreed. He patted Yixing’s cheek, his hand cool against the flush there. “Let’s just dance.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Bullshit.”

“I swear!” Baekhyun pointed at Lu, dropping the lock of hair he was weaving into the elaborate French braid that was slowly forming across Minseok’s head. “My brother told me, he said this guy’s the next Bruce Lee!”

“Bullshit,” Lu repeated. “That’s blasphemy. No-one’s ever gonna beat Bruce Lee. Get your hands off my man.”

Minseok blew a raspberry at him from the floor. “Until you can tie a ponytail without getting it three different kinds of wrong, I’ll have whoever’s hands on me I please.”

Lu stuck his tongue out at him, and Minseok wrinkled his nose right back.

“Who is this mystery action man, anyway?” J.D. asked from the back of the couch, where he was watching Zhixiang fry vegetables in a wok on the kitchenette stove.

“My brother said he’s called Jackie Chan.”

“Jackie Chan?” Sehun said. “Yeah, he sounds like a Bruce Lee rip-off.”

“Sit on it, Sehun.”

“I heard of him!” Zhixiang yelled over the hiss of the wok. “I saw him in a movie year before last.”

“Yeah?” Sehun turned and hooked his chin over the back of the couch, leaning his head against J.D.’s hip. “He any good?”

Zhixiang nodded. “Good fights. I like him.” He banged his spatula against the side of the wok to unstick the carrots from it, then nodded towards the fridge. -- _Comrade Zhang, will you grab the soy sauce for me?_

Yixing nodded and bent down to pull the door open, jingling all the bottles in the door compartments.

\-- _You know you don’t have to call me comrade, right?_

\-- _Isn’t that how you’re used to being addressed back home?_

Well, yes, but-

\-- _It feels like you’re making fun of me._

\-- _I would never._

Yixing straightened up and set the bottle of soy sauce down on the counter, squinting at Zhixiang over the top of it.

\-- _Here in America, no-one calls me comrade._

Zhixiang glanced up at him, then took the bottle with a nod of thanks and uncapped it. He didn’t speak for another moment as the wok hissed at the slosh of sauce, and it wasn’t until Yixing had taken the bottle from him and slotted it back into the fridge that he seemed to gather his thoughts.

\-- _Would you rather I call you friend?_

Yixing eyed him for a moment. The teasing light was still in his eyes, but Yixing was starting to see that as a standard state of being for Zhixiang.

\-- _We would not be friends, back home,_ he pointed out.

\-- _No,_ Zhixiang agreed. -- _But we’re not back home, are we?_

\-- _No,_ Yixing laughed. -- _No, we’re not._

Zhixiang grinned at him. -- _As they say here in America,_ “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“Are you guys talking about the Wizard of fucking Oz in Chinese?” Baekhyun piped up. “How did we get from Bruce Lee Version Two to the Wizard of Oz?”

“Gonna drop a house on you,” Zhixiang shot back. “Steal your shoes. Click click, send me back to Keelung.”

“Yeah, good riddance,” Baekhyun retorted. “C’mon, when’s dinner gonna be ready?”

“Never, if I hear any more this disrespect from your mouth.”

“For all of us?” Minseok asked, “or just Baekhyun?”

“Just Baekhyun. He can sit ’n watch us eat. Rest of you are nice. Baek don’t get to eat my Mama’s fried carrot rice. Too loud, not polite enough.”

\-- _That’s what I said!_

Zhixiang laughed and nudged Yixing in the ribs with one elbow.

\-- _And you thought we had nothing in common._

-

The lights were too bright. Yixing closed his eyes and leaned his chin on the palm of one hand, his sigh lost in the pulsing music.

He couldn’t understand how anybody could enjoy this song. Every so often it would turn into just shouting, “ _Ah, ah, ah, ah,_ ” and Yixing would cringe into his hand until the singers had finished screaming and the pulsing beat resumed. Baekhyun and the others seemed to be enjoying themselves, though, bouncing and shaking to the music as Yixing’s head throbbed with each beat.

“You look like you’re bored out of your skull.”

Yixing jumped. He hadn’t noticed Baekhyun appear at his elbow, too focused on the way Sehun was bobbing to the thrum of the bass with his hands in J.D.’s hair, both of them laughing as Sehun pulled him side to side.

“Bored,” Yixing agreed. “Music too loud. Too many light. All just noise.”

He felt more than heard Baekhyun’s hum of sympathy against his arm.

“Sit tight,” he yelled over the music. “I’ll be right back!”

With that, he scampered off through the crowd.

_Sit tight?_ Yixing pulled his knees together and took his elbow off the table to tuck it into his side, pulling himself up into the best posture he could manage. Satisfied that this was suitably tight, he watched for Baekhyun’s return through the throng of moving bodies.

“Alright!”

Yixing jumped again as Baekhyun appeared on his other side, spinning his keyring around his finger.

“Oh! You scare me.”

Baekhyun grinned. “C’mon, jumpy. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

“Let’s-” _what?_

Yixing hopped off his barstool and hurried after Baekhyun past the bouncers, out of the club and onto the street.

“Where are we going?”

“That’s a very good question.” Baekhyun led the way along the street and around the corner to the alleyway where his car was parked. He unlocked the passenger door and held it open for Yixing, then rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat.

“You not have to leave-”

“Where would you go?” Baekhyun interrupted him.

“I-?”

“On a night out,” Baekhyun said. “Where would you go, what would you do? If you were going out to have fun.”

“I…” Yixing tilted his head, thinking. “I would see a movie,” he decided. “And eat dinner.”

“Alright.” Baekhyun turned the key in the ignition. “Let’s do that, then.”

They found a little theatre on the edge of Chinatown, and Baekhyun bought them two tickets to the next movie.

“I have no idea what we’re about to see, but I’m sure it’ll be an experience.”

“China make very good movie,” Yixing told him.

“Well, if their films are anything like the rest of their exports…” Baekhyun smirked at him, his amusement sailing over Yixing’s head and halfway out to sea. When Yixing just stared at him, head tilted almost to his shoulder, Baekhyun laughed and linked his arm through Yixing’s to drag him to their seats.

Thirty seconds into the opening scene, Baekhyun leaned over to whisper into Yixing’s ear.

“I didn’t think this through, did I?”

Yixing glanced at him. Baekhyun nodded at the screen.

“No subtitles.”

“Subtitles?”

Baekhyun pointed at his own ear, then shrugged.

_Ohhh. Duh._

Yixing dropped his head forward to gently smack himself in the forehead, and Baekhyun smothered a laugh into his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he chuckled. “I’ll still enjoy the action scenes.”

“No, no,” Yixing said. “I can help.”

So they spent the movie leaning on the armrest, their heads together so that Yixing could whisper translations into Baekhyun’s ear. Occasionally his faltering English would stumble to a halt, or he would come across a gap in his Cantonese comprehension, and he would find himself just breathing against the side of Baekhyun’s head, lingering there while he waited for the next piece of dialogue. Initially it felt a little strange, but as the film went on the awkwardness dissipated and he relaxed into Baekhyun’s side.

There was something comfortable about resting there like that, he realised. Occasionally, when Baekhyun shifted in his seat, a tendril of his hair would tickle Yixing’s face; after the first three or four times, Yixing found it was easier just to nudge it out of the way with his nose than try to maneuver his hand up between their shoulders to push it back into place.

When the credits began to roll, Yixing shifted back into his own seat and arched his back to ease out the ache that had begun to form up his side. Baekhyun stretched his arms over his head, then turned to grin at Yixing with a yawn between his teeth.

“Well, I don’t know about you, Zhang,” he said, “but I think my brother was right about this Jackie Chan guy.”

Yixing nodded. “Very good. I like him.”

“I’ll have to see more of his movies,” Baekhyun agreed. “Maybe with English subtitles next time.”

“Ah, sorry!” Yixing cringed, but Baekhyun just laughed.

“You were a very good interpreter,” he assured him, throwing him a grin over his shoulder as he led the way out of the theatre with his hands in his pockets. “I think I almost enjoyed it more than the original dialogue.”

“Original dialogue not _that_ bad,” Yixing insisted.

Baekhyun ducked his head to giggle into the collar of his shirt, then reached back and took hold of Yixing’s wrist to pull him to his side.

“Maybe I should learn Chinese,” he said, as Yixing fell into step beside him.

“Chinese very easy,” Yixing said. “Chinese you say, I go, he go, you go, go yesterday, go tomorrow, all go together. English you say goes, going, went. Went? Why went? I’m went crazy!”

Baekhyun stopped walking and doubled over, smacking a hand against Yixing’s arm to stop him as he laughed himself breathless.

“I’m gonna cry,” he wheezed. He stumbled a step forward, his grip on Yixing’s arm apparently all that was keeping him upright. “Oh god, you’re too hilarious.”

_Did I say something funny?_ Yixing wondered. Spending time with Baekhyun was an exercise in bemusement.

They wandered along the street until one particular shop front jumped out from the rest and drew them in. An elderly Chinese lady led them through the restaurant to a courtyard at the back, where she ushered them to a table in the corner and brought them cups of tea.

“Oh, this place is cute,” Baekhyun whispered, as she disappeared back into the kitchen. “I need to come to Chinatown more often.”

“You have trouble if you come here on your own,” Yixing replied. “I think she don’t speaks English.” He paused, then shook his head. “Don’t think she speak English. Speaks English. Ah.” He pressed a hand to his forehead. “Do _I_ speak English?”

“You got there in the end,” Baekhyun said. “You’re right, I don’t think I’d last a minute on my own here. I’ll just have to bring you, won’t I?”

“It’s possible.”

Baekhyun’s smile spread into that rectangular grin, two full rows of teeth and his eyes crinkled up by the apples of his cheeks.

When the food arrived, Baekhyun examined it eagerly.

“What is all this?”

Yixing pointed at each dish with his chopsticks. “Chicken fried rice. Tofu. _Zhajiangmian_ \- uh, noodle with bean sauce.”

“Looks good. What’s- um. What’s that?”

“This one is from my home,” Yixing said, patting his chest. “From Hunan. Steamed fish head and chilli.”

“F-” Baekhyun’s lips twitched. “This, uh. This was what you ate back home, huh?”

“My mama make the _best_ fish,” Yixing said.

“Fish heads,” Baekhyun muttered. “Definitely what I think of when I think comfort food.”

“Exactly!” Yixing picked up a piece with his chopsticks and held it out to Baekhyun. “Here - you try.”

“Oh, jeez. Okay.”

Baekhyun opened his mouth and let Yixing maneuver the fish past his lips. For a moment he just chewed, looking at Yixing with his eyebrows drawn slightly together.

“M’m’god,” he mumbled, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. “That’s- it’s good.”

“It’s good?”

“It’s really good!”

Yixing smiled. “I told you! Here. Try the eye.”

“Oh, Jesus-”

-

Baekhyun pulled up next to the curb and idled for a moment before cutting the engine.

“Well,” he said, “this is you.”

“No,” Yixing corrected him, “this is Mr. Peterson house.”

Baekhyun grinned. “Yeah, I know. I mean, this is your destination.”

“Oh,” Yixing pulled a face. “I know that.”

Baekhyun just laughed.

“I had a really nice night,” he said, when they had been staring at each other for about a minute.

“Me too.”

“I’m glad we left the club.”

“Yes,” Yixing agreed, “very glad.”

It didn't quite feel like goodnight. Yixing hesitated, waiting for Baekhyun to say something, do something, that would tell him he should get out of the car.

Baekhyun shifted in his seat and reached out to touch Yixing’s cheek. It was only the lightest pressure, but to Yixing it felt as natural and comfortable as leaning into Baekhyun’s side, brushing his hair out of the way to whisper translations into his ear. It sent a sparkle of joy across Yixing’s skin, and when Baekhyun’s fingers traced down the side of his face and began to fall away, he found himself chasing their departure. _No, don’t go, keep touching me like that-_

When Baekhyun’s hand returned to Yixing’s face, it was accompanied by his mouth on Yixing’s lips.

The sparkle became a fizz, a skitter of bubbles at the back of Yixing’s neck and behind the bolt of his jaw. He didn’t quite know what to do, had never kissed anyone like this and had only seen it done in movies or across the crowded dance floor at the club, but Baekhyun’s hand was stroking back across his cheek to cup behind his neck, and so Yixing copied him.

As his fingers slid into Baekhyun’s hair, pushed it back from his face and felt the fall of it around his ear, Yixing realised he felt no shame in this - only that bubble of delight, and a warmth in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain.

Baekhyun’s fingers tightened on the back of his head, and he seemed to part from Yixing’s lips very deliberately.

“I should let you go inside,” he murmured, drawing back only far enough to come into focus. “I don’t want to keep you out all night.”

Yixing suddenly felt that he wouldn’t really mind. Unwilling to be released, he couldn’t help but catch Baekhyun’s hand on its way down.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Baekhyun said, and Yixing heard it as both a question and a promise.

“Yes.”

Baekhyun squeezed his fingers and then, after an agonising second in which it almost seemed like he was going to pull him back in, let go.

“Go on.”

Yixing opened the car door, then turned back to give Baekhyun one last smile.

“Goodbye.”

Baekhyun just blew him a kiss. Yixing hid his flushed grin in the sleeve of his shirt as he slid out of the car and slammed the door shut.

He didn’t hear the engine start until the front door was safely closed behind him.

“Oh, hello!”

Mr. Peterson, sitting in the living room, slid his headphones off his ears and set down the record sleeve in his hands.

“Hello!” Yixing tried to pull his expression back from lovestruck to friendly.

“Did you have a good evening?” Mr. Peterson smiled.

“Yes,” Yixing said. “Watched movie. Ate dinner.”

“Oh, lovely!” Mr. Peterson beamed at him, his headphones already halfway back to his ears to continue choreographing in the air in front of him.

“Yes. Nice night.” Yixing turned to begin up the stairs.

“ _Good_ night.”

“Hm?” He glanced back to find Mr. Peterson still smiling at him.

“Goodnight,” he repeated.

“Oh. Yes,” Yixing agreed, his lips twitching back into that giddy grin. “Good night. Very good.”

-

Yixing groaned and stumbled to a halt. Face in his hands, he flopped into the splits and leaned forward to rest his forehead on the cool floor.

He’d repeated these steps so many times, they’d lost their meaning. Even with the music, he was losing the feeling, losing the emotional line of the dance that took it from first sight to true love. The flower girl was just another body, more feet and skirt than a real person - and it didn’t help that he was having to imagine her right now. How could he fall in love when the very architecture of the dance bored him to tears?

He sat up, then rolled backwards over his shoulder to stand. There must be something, anything else he could do to take a break from this choreography. Why on Earth had Mr. Peterson given it to them so far in advance? He must know that it barely took an afternoon to learn a dance, and less than a week to master it. What had possessed him to bore them all for six weeks straight with practices of the same dances over and over when they wouldn’t even be performing them until near the end of the summer?

At a loss, he slouched over to the stereo in the corner and yanked open the top drawer of the cabinet. He’d seen Baekhyun rooting around in here for music more than a handful of times, so it must be okay for him to have a look… 

He pulled out a cassette and scrutinised the back for any words he understood. Finding none, he decided to take his chances and shoved it into the machine anyway.

A second later he was ejecting it again as discordant noise blasted from the speakers. More of Mr. Peterson’s modern avant-garde - it wasn’t what Yixing needed right now.

A second tape was more of the same, a third was the kind of torture he heard on the radio every morning in Mr. Peterson’s car, a fourth-

Yixing sighed. _Finally._ Classical piano.

He skipped slowly through the tape, pausing long enough to gauge the feel of each song before moving onto the next. When one caught him, hesitated his hand above the fast-forward button just long enough to hook him in, he stopped and rewound to the start of that track.

At first it was hard to find the rhythm of the piece. It was only after a few bars of listening that Yixing realised the pianist was feeling rather than counting the beat, moving the tempo to the emotion of the tune. As this thought fell into place, Yixing closed his eyes and took a step back towards the centre of the room, trying to let the song fill his bones and direct them without interference from his metronomic brain.

It wasn’t much of a dance. He never really got a good enough handle on the pianist’s unpredictable variations of pace to incorporate any particularly complicated chains of steps, but by the time the music faded into a final solitary note Yixing felt much more connected to the room and less trapped inside his head.

“What’s this?”

Yixing whipped around to see Baekhyun standing in the doorway, voice soft and face softer.

“I- nothing, I- I was just-”

“Just moving?”

“Just moving,” Yixing admitted.

Baekhyun took another step into the room and pushed the door closed behind him.

“It was beautiful,” he said. “Breathtaking.”

“Breathtaking, what does this mean?”

“It means…” Baekhyun spread his hands. “Wow. Amazing.”

Yixing couldn’t restrain the smile that crept up into his cheeks. He ducked his chin towards the floor, feeling suddenly shy - this was the first glimpse he’d had of Baekhyun since they had said goodbye last night, and he was sure he still looked as bashful as he had when he’d gotten out of the car.

As he stared at his wriggling toes, the hiss of the tape gave way to the beginning of the next track.

“Chopin, huh?” Baekhyun asked.

Yixing looked up, inquisitive.

“What is this, Shou-pang?”

Baekhyun laughed. “ _Chopin_ ,” he said. “He’s the composer.”

“Ah. Composer-”

“He wrote this music,” Baekhyun clarified, nodding towards the stereo.

“Oh. Yes.”

They stared at each other for a second while the piano whispered from the speakers. Yixing blinked and tilted his head to the side, not quite sure whether he was supposed to say something. After a few bars, Baekhyun dropped his bag and sat down to yank off his sneakers. When he stood up again, sweatshirt off and ballet shoes on, the music had built from a drip to a cheerful trickle.

Baekhyun stepped forward and turned in what Yixing by now recognised as his introductory _demi-pirouette_ \- a slow spin, left foot wrapped around his ankle _cou-de-pied_ , hands _demi seconde_ and shoulders turned in a graceful _épaulement_.

\-- _What?_

Baekhyun looked up at him. His lip tugged down into the bottom half of his rectangular grin, and he took another step to reach out and lean forward onto Yixing in an _arabesque_.

“What are you doing?”

Baekhyun didn’t respond for a moment, too busy pushing his _arabesque_ to its farthest stretch.

“If I can do _just moving_ ,” he said, straightening up and bringing his working leg through to _developpé_ forward across Yixing’s body, “and you can do _just moving_ ,” pivoting, sweeping that leg through into a _chassé_ , hand still on Yixing’s shoulder and not showing any sign of removing itself, “then let’s just move together.”

“Oh.”

Yixing stood, frozen in a moment of petrified indecision. It was one thing to do this on his own, to let go and give his bones to the music without interference from his brain or any outside eyes, but to try and match it to another person- to do this with another human being not only watching his improvisations, but depending on them for their own ability to dance-

Baekhyun’s hand slid off his shoulder, down his arm, under his wrist and across his palm until he could gently lift Yixing’s fingers to his lips. He traced the softest touch of a kiss to Yixing’s knuckles, then lifted their joined hands and unfolded through that archway to _developpé_ across in front of him again, this time with Yixing’s arm along the back of his shoulders.

Like that, it was so instinctive for Yixing’s hand to slide under Baekhyun’s calf and scoop him up into a _relevé_ , tilting him backwards onto that arm and taking his weight as he walked a slow circle around the axle of Baekhyun’s supporting leg.

As the music began to build into a stream, intensity gathering in the bass and the tune blooming with colour, Baekhyun pushed himself off Yixing’s arm and spun to face him. Following the momentum of his turn, Yixing skipped backwards, taking Baekhyun’s _tombé_ and running with him across to the other side of the room. The touch of Baekhyun’s hands to his shoulders was signal enough for Yixing to catch him by the waist for whatever he was about to do - _temps levé_ , boosted to shoulder height. Yixing decided to turn with it, taking Baekhyun to the other side of his body so that he was now the one gliding backwards in a quick _pas de bourrée_.

The music slowed again, softened back to an iteration of its original theme. Yixing pulled Baekhyun into a waltz hold and for a bar or two all they did was revolve in a gentle circle. Then the piano began to strengthen again, bringing Baekhyun in, past, pulling him to the length of Yixing’s arm so that he could throw himself into a _coupé jeté en tournant_ and a further string of _piqués_ \- turns, then steps, then _pas de bourrée piqué_ until he eased to a perfectly poised _sus-sous_ in time with the softening music.

Yixing barely had a breath in which to appreciate the effortless composure of that stillness before the last lingering note fell into a cascade of - _oh_ , the piece had a second movement, this one more agitated, almost frantic, and before Baekhyun could even turn _soutenu_ to face him Yixing was crossing the floor at a run, meeting him as he fell from that pinhead balance and catching his hands to anchor himself as he jumped, kicking both legs up behind himself and then holding as he landed so Baekhyun could mirror him.

The music swelled and ebbed, surged again and died away, built in rumbling crescendos and eased into suspense as they leapt and spun together. Yixing finished a triple _pirouette_ only to find Baekhyun darting in to catch his leg and pull it from _retiré_ into a high _développé_ , bending him _cambré_ to the side and then snapping him back upright. Guiding Yixing’s ankle onto his shoulder, he reached down and took a better grip on him.

Yixing felt his balance shift, felt Baekhyun pulling his weight off that supporting foot; in a split second of realisation, he realised what this hold was. He let his foot point, let Baekhyun take his weight, and as they began to glide across the floor - Baekhyun pulling and Yixing trailing on the top of his foot - a lightning bolt of clarity hit.

This was a _pas de deux_ unlike any Yixing had ever danced before. It wasn’t the kind you would normally see between two men, like the merchants or the battling soldiers - there was too much close contact, too many lifts and holds and steps like these where the very essence of the movement depended on them depending on each other. Neither, though, was it a _pas de deux_ as would be danced by a man and a woman - and this was the critical thing. Yixing had been trying up until now to dance as he had always danced, playing the male role and dancing a man’s steps, but suddenly it became clear to him that in doing so he was forcing Baekhyun to play the woman.

Baekhyun was no woman.

It occured to Yixing that he had spent so long in charge of leading and supporting that he had never considered what it might feel like to be led and supported. Somehow Baekhyun was able to do all of it simultaneously and effortlessly.

Perhaps that was the core of this kind of _pas de deux_ , he thought. Not a dance of separate equals, nor an intimate balance of opposites, but something close, profound, intricately intertwined in all that made them alike. The ability to be all things, to change in a breath, to guide and be guided without distinctions of identity.

Yixing had the entirety of this epiphany in the space between his ankle hitting Baekhyun’s shoulder and leaving it again, pushed off by Baekhyun’s hand as his other raked up Yixing’s back, drawing him in until they were almost nose-to-nose. They stepped, Yixing pushing Baekhyun ahead of him, one, two, and then Yixing ducked, spun under Baekhyun’s arm and came up behind him. Baekhyun followed that movement to fall backwards into Yixing’s arms and let himself be swung, thrown, spinning in a cross between a _tour en l’air_ and a cannonball before landing on his knees, rolling, standing, drawing himself up into an _arabesque à terre_ with just that degree of _épaulement_ to make his leading hand into an extension of his back.

He turned. Yixing had no idea how much of the song was left, but as far as he was concerned, this was it. This was the crescendo that brought his heart with it, the roar of the music between the notes and the blood between his ears, and when he held out his hands Baekhyun needed no further encouragement. He ran the width of the room, that leading hand sweeping through to align his path, and threw himself into Yixing’s arms.

It was a _temps levé_ , nominally, but once Yixing had Baekhyun lifted to the farthest reach of his arms he held him there, bringing himself in underneath so that he was supporting Baekhyun’s full weight. Baekhyun’s legs assembled back underneath him, his foot falling from _retiré_ to _sus-sous_ before relaxing into an open first position. He stared down at Yixing, lips parted and eyes wide, his hands resting on Yixing’s shoulders and his waist heaving in Yixing’s grip from the force of his breath.

As Yixing held him on that delicate balance, Baekhyun’s legs shifted. Yixing did not look down, but he felt the gentle slide of Baekhyun’s feet around his ribcage, his legs wrapping carefully around his torso. When Baekhyun began to descend from the peak of that flight, it was only so far as to settle atop Yixing’s hips, his thighs secure around Yixing’s waist and arms around his neck.

Yixing gripped at Baekhyun’s back, palms pressed to his spine. He was suddenly scared of dropping him, not due to any lack of strength on his own part but because his hands seemed to have forgotten how to be hands.

“Many hearts,” Yixing murmured, searching Baekhyun’s eyes for any hint of the sweetness, the cheekiness, the determination he had seen in his previous dances.

“You can have them all,” Baekhyun responded, and kissed him. 

Yixing’s brain stopped working somewhere between Baekhyun’s bottom lip and the tip of his tongue. All intelligent thought ceased, drowned out by the sudden, imperative litany of, _“oh my god oh my god he’s kissing me he’s kissing me.”_

Whereas their first kiss had been traumatic and their second hurried, this one by contrast was delightfully sweet, careful and deliberate. There was something comfortable and sure about the pressure of Baekhyun’s mouth, like he knew this was okay now, he knew Yixing wouldn’t mind. Like this was a thing they could do all the time.

Baekhyun was kissing him, and Yixing’s lip was between both of his, and the music was still playing - another crescendo, another flood of suspense, there was still more, the best was yet to come- 

All of a sudden Yixing’s stomach pulled tight in the strangest squeeze he’d ever felt in his life. He gave a little squeak, which was answered by a yelp as his arms loosened around Baekhyun.

“Ah! Sorry!”

Baekhyun giggled into Yixing’s chest, clinging to his shoulders with his legs clamped around Yixing’s thighs to prevent himself falling. “It’s okay.” He hoisted himself up enough to swing his legs underneath himself and land upright. “We should probably stop. Boners in tights are a bad idea.” He leaned in to peck another kiss to Yixing’s lips, then sniggered. “Boners in tights. Title of my autobiography right there.”

Baekhyun was saying a whole bunch of words, and Yixing was less concerned with picking them apart for some meaning than he was with that electric clench in his gut. Holding Baekhyun in his arms, kissing him like that - it had sent a shock of delight through his stomach. Yixing had never felt anything like it before.

“You alright?” Baekhyun asked. His thumb brushed over Yixing’s chin, fingers tickling underneath until Yixing squirmed back from him.

“Yes. Fine. Good.”

“So what have you been doing today? Got any new dances you’re working on?”

Yixing shook his head. “Just flower _pas de deux_. It’s so bored. I danced it too many times, but I have to keep practising.”

Baekhyun tilted his head to look up at Yixing out the corner of his eye. “Do you want to practise it with me?”

The false shyness in his grin made Yixing laugh. “Yes. I do.”

-

If he stopped to think about it, it was amazing how quickly Yixing had come to feel at home in America. Seattle no longer scared him - in fact, he’d grown quite familiar with parts of it. After almost two months here, he had an easy route around all his favourite spots: Mr. Peterson’s house, the Seattle Ballet’s studios, the Pike Place Market with its bakeries and street musicians, Baekhyun’s apartment on the outskirts of the city, and, one by one, the houses of all his friends.

It hit him one afternoon while he was lying on Sehun and J.D.’s couch, his head resting on Minseok’s thigh and his bare toes wiggling in the afternoon sun, just how well he knew them all. He was by now well-versed in the tales of how they had all met - how Baekhyun and Sehun’s families had been friends since before they were born, how J.D., Minseok and Baekhyun had all learned ballet at the same studio as children and had remained friends after Baekhyun and Minseok went off to join the Seattle Ballet while J.D. stayed on at the studio to become a teacher. Minseok had met Lu in a nightclub and instantly drawn him in to be a part of their group; Sehun and Zhixiang had been introduced at a department mixer at the university back when Sehun was a freshman and Zhixiang was a Masters student newly arrived from Taiwan. These were all stories that Yixing knew as if he had lived them himself. 

“Hey, Beijing boy.” Sehun slid onto the arm of the couch and lifted Yixing’s legs. “Taking up the whole couch, huh?”

“Oh- sorry-” Yixing made to pull his knees in and sit up, but Sehun kept ahold of him, pushing his feet from side to side.

“Can you put your ankles behind your head?”

“What’s ankles?”

“This bit.” Sehun tapped the joint of Yixing’s foot.

“Oh. Put it… on my head?”

“Behind your head. Lemme see.” Sehun lifted Yixing’s legs off the couch and pushed them down towards his body.

“I’m trying to read,” Minseok muttered, as Yixing’s feet landed on top of his book.

“Sorry-” Yixing grimaced up at him.

“Not you,” Minseok assured him, petting his head. “You’re okay. It’s Trouble who can’t keep his hands to himself.”

“This is for science,” Sehun said, attempting to slot Yixing’s foot behind his head without lifting him off Minseok’s lap.

“What science,” Minseok scoffed. “You’re a lawyer.”

“Not yet,” Sehun said. “I’ve still got a couple years to fuck around before I have to be serious. Move your book.”

Minseok sighed and marked his page, then set the book down on the end table and turned to hold Yixing’s shoulders while Sehun tucked first one, then the other ankle behind his head.

“Hoohoo!” Sehun crowed. “Awesome!”

“What are you idiots doing in there?” J.D. called from the kitchen.

“Zhang’s getting all Jane Fonda,” Sehun replied.

There was a clatter from the other room, and a second later Baekhyun barrelled into the living room.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, staring at Yixing’s face peeking out from between his calves. “Incredible.”

“Do you not see this literally every day at work?” Lu asked, appearing behind him with a can of soda in each hand.

“You may be interested to know we do things other than contort ourselves into weird positions,” Minseok pointed out.

“Could have fooled me,” Lu responded, both eyebrows wiggling up and down.

Yixing couldn’t quite work out why Minseok suddenly flushed bright red and buried his face in his book again.

“My kids are obsessed with doing that,” J.D. commented as he wandered out of the kitchen and took one of the cans from Lu. “There was one girl in grade three last year who could do it and now everyone’s gone nuts trying to copy her.”

“What’s the carnage been like?” Baekhyun grabbed the can as soon as J.D. opened it and took a gulp.

“Hey!” J.D. snatched it back and wiped the rim. “A couple of pulled hamstrings, no broken necks or anything. At least they’re stretching, right?”

“There is that.”

Baekhyun was still staring at Yixing, eyeing the curve of his knees against his chest. Yixing was starting to feel self-conscious with Baekhyun’s eyes on him like that, so he unhooked his feet from behind his neck and sat up, shuffling into Minseok’s side to make room for Sehun to sit down next to him.

Before Sehun could slide off the arm of the couch, though, Baekhyun had stolen the soda back from J.D. and darted across the room to plop down into that empty space.

“Hey!” J.D. cried. “You come into my house, you eat my food, you steal my Coke-”

“I supply the drinks, I bring the party, I play good music-”

“Shut _up_ , I’m trying to read!” Minseok reached over Yixing to smack his book against the top of Baekhyun’s head.

“Ah! Ah! I’m wounded. You’ve concussed me. I won’t be able to dance, the performance is cancelled.”

Minseok snorted. “I’m pretty sure a literal beating couldn’t stop you stealing the show.”

Baekhyun stretched back against the couch, his arm sliding across Yixing’s shoulders and his eyes falling closed in the sun. “You’re so right.” He toasted the room with his can, then raised it to his lips and took a long drink, his eyes sparkling with mirth and his arm tight and warm around Yixing’s back.


	4. Chapter 4

In the corner of Baekhyun’s tiny living room was a piano. It had been his grandmother’s, and when her fingers had grown too old and arthritic to play she had given it to him.

“You play this?” Yixing had asked, the first time he had seen it.

“Sure do,” Baekhyun had said, “I took a bunch of lessons as a kid, and then taught myself the rest when I got bored of scales and arpeggios.” And then he had sat down and proceeded to play one of the classical pieces from the tapes in the cabinet in their favourite practice room, no sheet music needed, his eyes fluttering half-closed with each swell of intensity until Yixing could feel his heartbeat in every note. The piano hadn’t been tuned in many years, but under Baekhyun’s fingers the discordance was almost charming.

Now they sat side-by-side on the stool, Baekhyun playing and Yixing watching in amazement.

“You play so beautiful,” he whispered. “Another heart.”

“I hope you’re keeping count of how many hearts I have,” Baekhyun said, smirking at him out the corner of his eye. “At this point I’m worried they won’t all be able to fit in my body.”

“Lost count,” Yixing admitted. “I see another one every day.”

Baekhyun giggled, his fingers fumbling over the keys and bringing the piece to a stumbling halt.

“Ah, I lost my place.”

“Sorry!” Yixing patted Baekhyun’s flexing fingers.

“Don’t be silly.” Baekhyun turned and darted in to steal a kiss onto Yixing’s lips. “Let’s see what else I’ve got.”

He brushed his fingers back and forth across the keyboard for a moment as if thinking, then gave a little hum of decision and began a soft tune, tinkling up and down the scale with one hand as the other poised over the keys. As that hand fell, though, the key changed and Baekhyun opened his mouth to sing.

“ _Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older?_ _  
_ _Then we wouldn’t have to wait so long._ _  
_ _And wouldn’t it be nice to live together,_ _  
_ _In the kind of world where we belong?_ ”

He turned and grinned at Yixing, singing the next words directly to him.

“ _You know it’s gonna make it that much better,_ _  
_ _When we can say goodnight and stay together._ ”

Yixing ducked his head and laughed, pressing his smile into Baekhyun’s arm and rocking back and forth to the bouncing rhythm of his shoulders.

“ _Wouldn’t it be nice if we could wake up,_ _  
_ _In the morning when the day is new?_ _  
_ _And after having spent the day together,_ _  
_ _Hold each other close the whole night through-_ ”

He was singing into the top of Yixing’s head now, lips against his hair, so Yixing looked up to return his grin nose-to-nose.

“ _Happy times together we’ve been spending,_ _  
_ _I wish that every kiss was never-ending…_ ”

The next line got a little bit lost in Yixing’s mouth.

“Mm-” Baekhyun abandoned the keys and twisted on the stool to slide his hands into Yixing’s hair and hold him in place as he kissed all the breath out of his lungs.

Yixing’s heart pounded against his ribs, pulsing and squeezing with every drag of Baekhyun’s lips. As the tip of Baekhyun’s tongue traced over the inner edge of his bottom lip, he felt that clench in his stomach again.

“Hah-” he pulled back to breathe, heart and lungs mixed up in his throat and that redoubled grip of heat in his gut as he opened his eyes and saw the gathering flush in Baekhyun’s cheeks, the way his eyes were trained on Yixing’s lips, the dizzying flutter of his eyelashes.

“God,” Baekhyun whispered, and knotted his fingers into Yixing’s hair to drag him closer.

For a long minute it was all they could do to remember to snatch in stray breaths. Clutching at each other on the piano stool, mouths pressed open, hands grasping at hands, at hair, at each other’s shoulders and waists until Baekhyun tucked his fingers into the waistband of Yixing’s jeans and drew that twist of fire into a storm that filled his entire chest.

“M- Baekhyun-” he broke away and leaned his head against Baekhyun’s shoulder, gasping for breath as his stomach burned with a purpose he didn’t recognise.

“Oh, shit, Zhang-” Baekhyun’s lips were on his neck, kissing, sucking, making Yixing shiver in his arms. “Please tell me you want this as much as I do.”

Yixing tried and failed to choke back the squeak in his throat as Baekhyun lipped his way up to his earlobe and began dragging his teeth over it.

“Want-” English was difficult at the most coherent of times. “What?”

“I- fuck, I wanna-” Baekhyun kissed down Yixing’s face to whisper into the softness of his cheek. “I wanna ride you, Zhang.”

And now Baekhyun’s lips were sweet at the very edge of his mouth, but Yixing was a little confused.

“Ride me… like… horse?”

Baekhyun snorted against Yixing’s cheek, his voice lost into silent laughter for a moment.

“I’m talking about sex,” he said, which clarified things precisely none. When he sat up and took Yixing’s face in his hands to brush the hair out of his eyes, Yixing just blinked at him.

“Please tell me you know what sex is,” Baekhyun said.

“Yes?” Yixing tilted his head to the side and lifted his hands to tap one finger against the other fist. “One, two, three, four, f-”

“Oh my god, no-” Baekhyun laughed, pulling Yixing closer and giggling a kiss into his lips. “No, no, it’s- oh hell. How do I explain this?”

“I’m confuse,” Yixing admitted.

“Okay, it’s-” Baekhyun scooted backwards on the piano stool just enough to run his hands down the length of Yixing’s chest. “It’s this,” he said, as he reached Yixing’s belt. “It’s…” he smoothed his palms over Yixing’s hips and rubbed his thumbs over the edge of his pockets, shifting the denim over Yixing’s crotch and making him twitch. “It’s when you touch me everywhere. And I touch you everywhere. Everywhere you want to be touched. Do you understand?”

The sudden shyness in Baekhyun’s eyes when he glanced up at him was enough to click it into place.

“Oh.”

Heat flushed through his cheeks, driven up from his stomach by the gentle pressure of Baekhyun’s hands on his hips. For a moment they just stared at each other, and Baekhyun seemed to be patiently waiting for Yixing to give him some sort of verbal confirmation, but that wasn’t going to happen with his heart choked into his throat like this, so Yixing just leaned forward and kissed him. Baekhyun met him eagerly, his arms wrapping around Yixing’s neck and fingers combing up through the hair at the back of his head.

“M- mm- mf, fuck, Zhang, I-” it seemed like Baekhyun was trying to say something, but it also seemed like he was trying to suck Yixing’s bottom lip off his face. “Christ, _please_ , why am I so turned on-”

The nibble of Yixing’s teeth at his lip seemed to be the tipping point. Baekhyun stood up and dragged Yixing off the piano stool, wrapped his arms around his waist and hoisted him up into his arms. Yixing clenched his thighs around Baekhyun’s hips on instinct and clung to him as he turned and walked across the living room, through the strings of hanging beads in the doorway and into the bedroom.

“Oh my god,” Baekhyun muttered as he set Yixing down on the covers and pushed him up towards the middle of the bed, “I think I’m about to explode.”

“Please don’t explode,” Yixing said. “That’s no good.”

“ _That’s no good_ ,” Baekhyun mimicked, his nose crinkled up in the most gleeful iteration of his rectangular grin. “You’re just- _ah_ , what must you be like in Chinese, if you’re this hysterical in English?”

“I don’t know ‘hysterical,’” Yixing said as Baekhyun crawled onto the bed in front of him, “in Chinese, much better - smarter. Not stupid, like I’m when I speak English.”

“Stu- Zhang, you’re literally the funniest person I know, what are you _talking about_ -”

“Yixing.”

“Huh?”

“My name.” He sat up to look Baekhyun in the eyes. “Zhang, it’s my family’s name.” And it had felt fine, it had felt normal to be called that by everyone, even in this country where everyone spoke to each other with such familiarity. But now, with this intimacy between them, “Yixing is _my_ name.”

“Zhang Yixing,” Baekhyun murmured. “Oh, of course. Family name comes first.”

“Right. My family, all Zhang. Yixing, just me.”

“You’ve been letting me call you by your last name this whole time-”

“Everybody call me Zhang,” Yixing said. “In China, teacher, friend, everyone all call me Zhang, or both name, Zhang Yixing. All my classmate, too - comrade, comrade - all comrade.” He could physically feel his English falling out of grammar, but this was too important to bother with plurals. “Family - I’m fifth son. Fifth brother.” 

“Even your family?”

Yixing nodded. “These names, they’re all honour. Comrade, brother, son, I’m very proud. Only people call me just Yixing, my best friends. Very closest to my heart.”

Baekhyun was still staring at him, his hand resting on Yixing’s ankle, and Yixing could see he didn’t quite understand.

“You too,” he said. “You call me Yixing.”

Baekhyun’s mouth went round, a little O of comprehension, and his eyebrows drew upwards.

“Y-” he paused. “Yixing.”

Yixing smiled, and Baekhyun suddenly ducked his chin towards his chest with a bubble of delirious laughter.

“Oh my god,” he murmured, “my heart’s going so fast.”

Yixing reached out and touched his chest. Sure enough, he could feel the thump of Baekhyun’s heart against his palm, the gentle movement of his breath and the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

It was that warmth that did it, the sudden, acute awareness that beneath that one layer of cotton was all of Baekhyun’s skin - touching suddenly wasn’t enough. Yixing wanted to really _feel_ him.

The slight grip of his fingers seemed to be a clear enough signal. Baekhyun crawled forward until his knees nudged against Yixing’s thighs, until he could take hold of Yixing’s shoulders and pull him close, his hands fisted in the fabric of Yixing’s shirt as he kissed him.

Yixing’s fingers wandered inwards, coming to rest in the open V of Baekhyun’s collar, lingering on the first button. Baekhyun pulled away to glance down at the touch; when Yixing didn’t move any further than that, he brought his own hand up to cover Yixing’s and popped the button open for him.

It was permission, guidance. Yixing undid the next button, and the next, and then slipped his hand inside to trace across Baekhyun’s chest. Baekhyun’s breath shook out of his mouth against Yixing’s lips, and it urged him up, forward, pushing Baekhyun down onto his back and crawling on top of him to bring his mouth to that warm skin.

Baekhyun groaned as Yixing kissed a line along his collarbone, into the soft dip just next to his shoulder, down his chest and back in towards his sternum. At every press, Yixing lingered just long enough to feel the thrum of Baekhyun’s pulse under his lips, to let the echo of it boil through his veins and stoke that fire in his chest.

“Oh fuck, this is- fffuck.” Baekhyun reached down and unbuckled his own belt, undid the button of his jeans and yanked the zipper down, then brought his hands back up to caress Yixing’s head.

Yixing glanced down at Baekhyun’s pants, then up at his face.

“Just releasing some pressure,” Baekhyun said. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna shove you down there just yet.”

Yixing looked back down at Baekhyun’s chest, at the wet trail of his own lips across the skin. He let his fingers wander down, flicking open buttons as they went, until he reached the fine trail of hair leading from Baekhyun’s belly button down into his underpants. There he paused, heart ratcheting back up into his throat beneath a growing cloud of apprehension.

Baekhyun sat up and shuffled forward to meet him.

“Why am I getting all the attention here?” He took Yixing’s hand from his stomach and placed it on the bed beside him, then cupped his face between both hands and kissed him so lightly, so sweetly, that Yixing felt it almost painfully in his chest. That feeling only intensified as Baekhyun’s kisses began to migrate over his chin, down his throat, to the collar of his shirt, and then back up the side of his neck.

“Oh-” Yixing squirmed away with a squeak.

“What?” Baekhyun pulled back.

“It-” Yixing scratched a hand over his neck, trying to dispel the itch. “Here, it’s very-”

“Are you ticklish?” Baekhyun seemed delighted. “Really?” He leaned forward and attempted to prise Yixing’s hand away from his neck.

“No, no! Ah- Baekhyun, no!”

Baekhyun giggled, gave up on trying to expose Yixing’s neck and pecked a kiss to his earlobe instead. “That’s not exactly what I want you screaming,” he whispered, and grinned when Yixing shivered at the warmth of his breath.

His fingers made quick work of the buttons down the front of Yixing’s shirt, and a moment later his mouth was burning across his chest, chasing the touch of his fingers from Yixing’s collarbone down to his abs and holding him close to drink in the moans that vibrated through his chest.

The heat of Baekhyun’s mouth was heaven, setting fire to nerves that Yixing hadn’t even known he had and soothing every burn with the sweet touch of his breath. That clenching storm in Yixing’s stomach had taken up residence at the bottom of his tailbone, and he felt like his skin might split from the boiling pressure of it.

“B- Baekh-” he choked and whimpered as Baekhyun licked over his nipple. -- _Oh my god._

“Tell me what you want,” Baekhyun whispered.

\-- _I don’t know, I don’t know-_

“In English, please.” Baekhyun grinned into Yixing’s stomach.

“I don’t know!” Yixing flopped an arm over his eyes, groaning at the inarticulable tension that Baekhyun was teasing into him.

“Well, the options are pretty standard,” Baekhyun said. “It’s essentially the same as with a woman. Just… slightly different holes.”

Yixing uncovered his eyes and lifted his head to squint at Baekhyun, staring at him until he saw the pieces fall into place in his brain.

“Oh. Oh my god.” Baekhyun clapped a hand to his mouth. “You’re not just a gay virgin… you’re a _total_ virgin!”

Yixing didn’t need his dictionary to guess what _virgin_ meant.

“Holy shit.” Baekhyun looked like his brain had just imploded. “Oh, you’re kidding me.” He buried his face in Yixing’s stomach to muffle a scream.

“Are you- are you okay?” Yixing lifted a concerned hand in the direction of Baekhyun’s head, but before he could get anywhere near him Baekhyun popped back up, his cheeks flushed and grin a mile wide.

“I’m fantastic, Yixing, I’m doing just fab. I-” he crawled up to kiss him, slotting his hands behind Yixing’s head and sucking kiss after kiss to his lips. “I have never- ever- _ever_ \- been anyone’s first. _Ever_. This is totally awesome.”

“You- you did this before?”

“Oh yeah.” Baekhyun pulled back and smirked at him. “I’ve been riding dick since 1975. I’m a fucking pro, pun absolutely intended-” what the hell was a pun, Yixing thought, “- and I’m pretty sure I could blow your mind even if you’d slept with twenty other guys, but the fact that you haven’t - that you’ve never been with _anyone_ \- you just set the bar about a hundred times higher, and I am _deee-lighted_. Because now I don’t just have to measure up to other men or women. Now I have to measure up to everything your virginal dreams have ever imagined sex to be. And that is a challenge I am five _hundred thousand percent_ willing to accept.”

“I.” Yixing blinked at him, eyebrows pulled together imploringly. “You talk too fast.”

Baekhyun burst out laughing, curling forward to rest his forehead on Yixing’s shoulder as all the chuckles bubbled out of his body.

“Too many big words,” he agreed, lifting his head just enough to lean his chin on his hand and smirk fondly at Yixing’s confusion. “Basically, what I’m saying is, I’m going to take real good care of you and make sure you have the absolute best first time anyone’s ever had.”

“Oh. Okay.”

It was almost reverent, the way Baekhyun undressed him. He pushed Yixing’s shirt off his shoulders and followed it down his arms with kisses, soft and open against his skin. When he had the full expanse of Yixing’s torso on display, he pulled him into his lap and continued those kisses across his chest. He ran his hands up and down his back, the slightest edge of his nails just enough to send shivers down Yixing’s arms.

When Baekhyun unbuckled Yixing’s belt, it was with that same gentleness of his lips above the waistband, nudging Yixing’s jeans down with his chin to kiss the very edge of his briefs. Yixing found his hips moving without permission, rolling up to get closer to that touch, desperate and delirious.

“Oh, you’re so eager,” Baekhyun murmured. “Your body knows just what to do. Your brain barely even knows what you want, but your cock sure has a pretty good idea.”

Yixing was only catching every second or third word; the rest were lost in the whisper of Baekhyun’s lips against his hip bone and the rush of breath in his ears.

“Mmm, show me,” Baekhyun groaned as he pulled Yixing’s jeans off. “Oh, yes, we’re almost there, c’mon-” he tossed them away onto the floor and slid his hands up Yixing’s bare legs, drawing a gasp and a twitch, to trace over the side of his briefs. “God, I’m drooling.”

“B-” Yixing hiccuped and rolled his hips under Baekhyun’s hands. “What- what is th-”

“ _Christ_ , you’re so turned on, aren’t you?” Baekhyun slowly peeled Yixing’s briefs down over his hips. The shift of fabric, the touch of air against his skin- Yixing’s entire body shivered, waves of it rippling from his head to his toes and back.

\-- _Oh god, oh god, what’s happening to me?_

“Yixing, look at me.”

Yixing opened his eyes to look at Baekhyun, trying to pour every ounce of pleading into his face. With a flutter of his eyelashes and a wicked grin, Baekhyun lifted his hand and wrapped it around Yixing’s penis.

“Ah-!”

“I just wanted to see your face when I did that,” Baekhyun said. “You’re so beautiful right now, you’re practically vibrating.” He crawled forward and kissed Yixing, beginning to stroke him as he did so. “You want to learn some new English vocabulary, Yixing?”

“H- wh-?”

“This is called a _cock_ ,” Baekhyun said, squeezing it. “What it’s doing right now is called a _giant, throbbing hard-on_. And what you’re about to do with it is _fuck me in the ass_.”

Yixing had no response other than a desperate gurgle in the back of his throat as Baekhyun stroked him with long, slow pulls.

“I really want to suck you right now,” Baekhyun murmured into the flush across Yixing’s cheek. “I’m dying to taste you. But I feel like if I do that you’ll just come down my throat straight away, and that’s hardly the best first time ever. That sounds more like _my_ first time. So that’ll have to be for next time.”

He ran his thumb over the head of Yixing’s cock and kissed the gasp right out of his mouth. Then, with a last parting nibble to Yixing’s bottom lip, he sat back on his heels and shoved his own jeans down over his ass.

Yixing pushed himself up onto his elbows to watch him for a moment, then sat up and leaned forward to help. Baekhyun flopped back onto the bed and let Yixing pull his pants off, his hand coming to rest on the front of his boxers and stroking himself with tiny movements of his fingers as he watched Yixing carefully fold his pants and set them on the floor.

When Yixing’s hands returned to Baekhyun’s hips, he found himself wanting to prolong this moment. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Baekhyun’s underwear and ducked his head to trail soft kisses along the edge of it, just as Baekhyun had done to him.

“Such a sweetie,” Baekhyun whispered.

“Sweet,” Yixing agreed, sucking at the point of Baekhyun’s hip. “Taste nice.”

“What, me?” Baekhyun laughed. “Thanks, I use strawberry body wash.”

“Mmm.” Yixing grinned into Baekhyun’s stomach and then, before he could lose his nerve, pulled his boxers down his legs.

He sat up to take it in - the sight of Baekhyun, on his back, boxers around his ankles and every inch of skin bare. The smooth muscle of his thighs, the curve of his cock towards his stomach. Yixing had never seen an erection other than his own, and even that he wasn’t overly familiar with. As he stared, Baekhyun shifted his legs, kicked his boxers off his foot and let his knees fall sideways on the bed. His hand smoothed down over the front of his own hip, dipped in between his thighs, and slid up again, shifting his testicles to give Yixing a good view.

“Like what you see?” he asked.

Yixing nodded. His heart was pounding into his throat; he never would have expected the sight of another man’s ass to turn him on, but America was full of surprises.

Baekhyun rolled over and crawled to the edge of the mattress to reach down under the bed. He rummaged around for a bit, and after a moment came up holding what looked like a tube of toothpaste.

“I can take care of this bit,” he muttered, opening the tube and squirting it onto his fingers. It wasn’t toothpaste, as it turned out; it was a clear gel, and Baekhyun rubbed it between his fingers as he shuffled forward to kneel in front of Yixing.

“What is it?” Yixing asked, nodding at Baekhyun’s hand.

“K-Y.” Baekhyun held out his hand so Yixing could see the gel. “Nothing’s getting into my butt without it.”

He reached behind himself, leaning forward to kiss Yixing as he did so. Yixing let his hands drift up to Baekhyun’s shoulders and down over his chest, and when he found Baekhyun’s nipple under his left thumb he rubbed it in tiny circles.

Baekhyun gave a happy little hum into Yixing’s lips. With his unoccupied hand, he reached up, took Yixing’s right hand from his chest, and pulled it down towards his crotch. Yixing had to break away from Baekhyun’s mouth to look down and see what he was doing, and when he saw where Baekhyun was guiding him his heart lurched in his chest.

Baekhyun let go of his wrist about three inches away, and Yixing hesitated only a breath before touching a careful finger to Baekhyun’s cock. The little noise Baekhyun made into his ear was encouragement enough for him to wrap his hand around it and give it an experimental stroke, then another, and another as Baekhyun’s lips pressed to his cheek.

He had no idea if he was doing this right. It felt like he was barely touching Baekhyun, but he was scared of hurting him if he squeezed any harder. Baekhyun seemed to be enjoying it, at any rate, breathing in gasps against Yixing’s face, his hand working faster behind himself.

After a few minutes of that gentle stroking, Baekhyun pulled back and reached over to the bedside table for a tissue to wipe his hands.

“Lie down,” he instructed.

As Yixing settled himself flat on the bed, Baekhyun swung a leg over his hips and leaned down to kiss his way across Yixing’s stomach, over his chest and up his neck until he was mouthing at the line of Yixing’s jaw.

“Kiss your virginity goodbye,” he said.

Yixing turned and pecked a kiss to Baekhyun’s lips. Baekhyun laughed and kissed him back, sucking Yixing’s bottom lip into his mouth, and it was during that kiss that he sank down onto Yixing’s cock.

Heat washed up the length of Yixing’s spine, and he gasped against Baekhyun’s mouth.

“Mm,” Baekhyun whispered, “oh, that’s perfect, that’s so good.”

“Good,” Yixing echoed. It was bewildering, this sensation - the pressure of Baekhyun’s body clenching around him, the sparks dancing through his stomach, the fires lighting in his feet and all across his skin.

Baekhyun sat up on top of him, his hands on Yixing’s shoulders, and began to move.

\-- _Oh my god._

Yixing reached out to hold Baekhyun’s hips, more to feel his movement than to give any sort of direction. Those thighs, which Yixing knew were capable of _jetés_ higher than his own head, were now pistoning Baekhyun up and down in a steady, rolling rhythm, his cock bouncing against his stomach with every rise and fall. Yixing shifted a hand, took hold of Baekhyun’s cock again, and squeezed in what he thought was a close approximation of the pressure he himself was feeling inside Baekhyun.

Baekhyun grunted and let his head fall forward as Yixing started stroking him with firm pulls. His muscles tightened around Yixing’s cock, and Yixing’s hand gripped tighter in response.

“Oh, it- fuck, Yixing, keep doing that.”

One hand slid down Yixing’s chest to pinch his nipple, tweaking and rolling it between finger and thumb until he twitched and gasped.

“Good?” Baekhyun murmured.

“Good,” Yixing panted. “Good, too good, too much-”

Baekhyun left that nipple and walked his fingers across Yixing’s chest to begin again with the other one.

“If at any point you want to flip me over and fuck me into the mattress, just go for it,” he said. “You wanna pile drive me, go right ahead.”

_I don’t know “pile drive,”_ Yixing thought, but his brain and mouth seemed to have disconnected a bit, because all that came out was a moan as Baekhyun drove down hard onto his cock.

“Oh, fuck, you’re just _gone_ already,” Baekhyun groaned. “Are you gonna last for me, ’Xing?”

Yixing pushed his hips up in response, and Baekhyun gave a pleased little hum.

“Yeah, that’s it, you’ve got it-”

Yixing grabbed Baekhyun’s hips and dragged him down to meet the next thrust. Baekhyun cried out, his face blossoming into a delighted grin, his hands falling limp on Yixing’s chest for a moment as his entire body shivered. Yixing tried a harder thrust, and that grin turned to a laugh. Harder again, and Baekhyun threw his head back, his entire face glowing with pleasure.

This was incredible. Yixing would have expected this to hurt Baekhyun, but instead he was gasping, grinning, delirious and ecstatic as Yixing’s hips smacked up into him. Yixing wondered how hard he could push it, whether they would reach a point of discomfort or if he could just keep driving Baekhyun higher and higher.

Compelled to test this question, he pushed himself up to sit, hooked his hands around Baekhyun’s shoulders and pulled him down into his lap with a clumsy kiss to his mouth.

“Mmm,” Baekhyun gasped, “keep going like that, so good, so- _ah- fuck,_ so good-”

“Like that,” Yixing repeated into his lips, and then, when Baekhyun shuddered and wrapped his arms around him to grip his back, pushed forward to set him down on the bed.

“Oh, shit,” Baekhyun mumbled, as Yixing gathered himself into a comfortable position, “fuck, yes, do it, own me- _ohh-_ ”

Yixing groaned in agreement. Baekhyun’s legs wrapped around his waist, and Yixing drove in hard, fucking down into him with quick snaps of his hips.

It was amazing how instinctive it was, to grind in deep like that, circling his hips until Baekhyun cried out and scratched his nails into Yixing’s shoulders.

“Shit- shit shit _shit shit shit- Yixing-_ ”

Yixing was still kissing him, still rocking into him, when Baekhyun began to shake, twitching and clenching around Yixing and finally shuddering tight, his eyes closed, smile wide, breath gasping and shallow.

Yixing paused, but Baekhyun’s grip tightened on his shoulders to pull him closer, so he kept rocking his hips in, fucking deeper and harder despite the sticky mess between their stomachs, until the fire in his legs burned up to meet the fire in his gut and it all became too much, too hot to hold back.

He groaned and buried his face in Baekhyun’s neck as his entire consciousness narrowed down to that whirl of pleasure inside him. Mind-blowing, breathtaking, the strangest and yet somehow the most natural thing Yixing had ever felt.

For a minute he just trembled, rocking gently in and out to try and prolong that feeling. When the fire finally burned itself out and the sparks dissipated back into skin, he sighed a kiss into Baekhyun’s shoulder. At the pat of a lethargic hand against his side he grunted an acknowledgement, pulled out, and flopped over to lie next to him, staring up at the crystal ornaments hanging from the ceiling.

After a long moment of regained breath, he felt Baekhyun turn his head to look at him.

“So. Thoughts?”

Yixing scanned the ceiling for anything approaching a coherent thought. Finding none, he closed his eyes, sighed, smiled.

“Wow. Amazing.”

Baekhyun laughed and rolled onto his side to throw an arm over Yixing’s waist.

“And that,” he declared, “if I do say so myself, is called a _damn good deflowering_.” He grinned into Yixing’s shoulder and hugged him tightly to his chest. “It’s a bit different from doing it yourself, huh?”

Yixing tucked his chin to his chest to look down at him. “Doing what?”

“You know.” Baekhyun mimed stroking his own cock. “Jerkin’ it. Choking the chicken. Doing the Han Solo.”

Yixing frowned at him.

“ _Masturbating_ ,” Baekhyun said. “Rubbing your own penis repeatedly until you orgasm. Splort. Jizz everywhere. Literally what just happened, but on your own.”

“Oh.” Yixing shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I don’t know. Do you do this on your own?”

“Do you _not?_ ” Baekhyun sat up and stared at him. “Yixing. Do you _not masturbate?_ ”

Yixing blinked up at him, confused. “Touch my- no? This-” he gestured between them, at the stickiness on his stomach, “first time.”

Baekhyun’s eyes bugged out of his head. “What. The _fuck?_ Are you- _what?_ ” He braced his fingers against his own temples, staring into the void in the air in front of him. “Was this your first orgasm?”

“What is or-”

“ _When you feel really good and squirt white stuff everywhere, Yixing,_ holy shit give me a second my brain’s just imploding a little bit.”

“Do you do this on your own in America?”

“I’m pretty sure you do it on your own _everywhere_ ,” Baekhyun insisted. “I refuse to believe that masturbation isn’t a thing in China, no matter how uptight you all might be. What kind of teenage boy _were_ you?”

“When I was a teenager I’m at the Academy. Ten years, just ballet and school every day.”

“And you never once woke up with morning wood? Spontaneous boners? The ballerinas didn’t get you hot?”

Yixing shrugged. “Share bedroom with seven classmates. When I wake up with _happy little brother_ , I wash and he go away.”

“Jesus,” Baekhyun muttered. “This is unreal.”

“Is it bad?”

Yixing’s expression must have been pitiful, because suddenly Baekhyun laughed.

“No,” he assured him, “no, it’s not bad. You just blew my mind, that’s all.” He lay back down and snuggled back into Yixing’s side. “I feel really special now.”

“You are special.” Yixing combed his fingers through Baekhyun’s hair, pushing it back off his forehead and tracing a thumb along his eyebrow.

“Hmm.” Baekhyun closed his eyes and smiled into Yixing’s chest. “So are you.”


	5. Chapter 5

On Wednesday night, Yixing and Baekhyun went out for dinner with Minseok, Lu, and Sehun. It was a triple date, Baekhyun said, “because Sehun’s only ever gonna date himself anyway.”

They went to a little diner on the opposite side of the city from the Seattle Ballet’s studios, in a semi-suburban part of town where trees lined the sidewalks and houses were dotted between the shops.

“Looking forward to Friday?” Lu asked, stealing a fry from Baekhyun’s plate.

“I’m so ready,” Baekhyun said. “Minseokkie and I are gonna bring the house down. Make all the ladies in the front three rows pregnant.”

“You disgust me,” Minseok said. “Also I _defy_ you to go anywhere near a lady with impregnating intentions even once in your life.”

“I mean. Maybe for kids.”

“Knowing you, you’d use a turkey baster,” Sehun muttered.

Lu snorted and choked on his drink. As Minseok pounded him on the back, Yixing nudged Baekhyun’s elbow.

“What is baster?”

“It’s the thing you use to squirt gravy all over a turkey,” Baekhyun said, pinching his fingers together by way of demonstration.

“Oh.” Yixing frowned. “It’s… for kids?”

“Yixing, buddy, I’m not gonna explain that bit to you in public,” Baekhyun said, as Sehun cackled into his napkin.

“Okay.” Yixing glanced around the diner. It was pretty full, families and couples packed into the booths and tables around them, and Yixing supposed whatever the secret association between basters and kids was, it was something Baekhyun didn’t want overheard by this many people.

“How many dirty things has Baekhyun taught you since you’ve been in the States, Zhang?” Minseok asked. “I’m sure your friends in China weren’t this depraved.”

“Dirty?” Yixing glanced at Baekhyun, making a mental note to look up _depraved_ in his dictionary later. “Hmm. Many things. All very dirty.” Like last night, when Baekhyun had finally explained _pile driving_ to him and then promptly initiated a thorough demonstration.

Baekhyun ducked his head to stuff his mouth with fries, the tips of his ears glowing red as Sehun laughed and slapped Lu’s arm.

“You’ve corrupted him,” Lu said. “How’s he gonna go back and be a good communist boy now, with all this shit you’ve taught him?”

“I love Chairman Mao,” Yixing insisted.

“I know you do,” Lu said. “I’m pretty sure you alone love Mao more than the entire U.S. of A. loves Jimmy Carter.”

“To be perfectly fucking honest,” Sehun said, “that’s not really a high bar.”

“True that,” Lu snorted.

“You know what,” Baekhyun said, having choked down his gobful of fries, “I like to think I’ve been a _very good influence_ on Yixing while he’s been here. I think he’s had the quintessential American experience.”

“I- _really?_ ” Minseok raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, really?” Sehun added.

“Yeah,” Yixing agreed. “Really?”

At that they all burst out laughing, Sehun turning to Yixing and thumping him on the arm hard enough to make him wince.

“Sit on it,” Baekhyun said, “all of you.”

“Sit on what?” Yixing wondered, which just made the others laugh harder.

As the meal went on, Baekhyun’s mood seemed to sour. At first Yixing couldn’t quite work out why - the conversation was pleasant enough - but at one point he glanced past Baekhyun and noticed the two young men sitting at the next table were watching them, and every time Baekhyun started talking, so did they. Yixing couldn’t hear what they were saying over the clink of plates and chatter of children, but clearly Baekhyun could from where he sat at the end of the table, because finally he pushed his chair back and stood up.

“I’m Korean, you imbeciles, get your racism right!”

The boys just laughed and tugged at their eyes.

“Oh, up your nose with a rubber hose,” Lu scowled. “Why don’t you act like men instead of little boys?”

“Hannie,” Minseok warned.

“ _Honey_ ,” the boys mimicked back at him.

“Go fuck yourselves,” Baekhyun scoffed.

“Ignore them,” Minseok said. “They’re children, let them be seen and not heard.”

He reached over the table and tugged on Baekhyun’s sleeve until he sat down and turned his seat to put his back to the boys.

“Anyway. Sehun. You were talking about your case study.”

They resumed their conversation, steadfastly ignoring the two boys, and after a few minutes Yixing noticed them flag down the waitress for their bill and leave.

“Thank god,” Baekhyun muttered. “Jeepers creepers, I’ve never wanted to punch someone more in my life.”

“What were they saying?” Sehun asked.

“Oh, the usual.”

“Blech.” Sehun stuck his tongue out. “Boring.”

“Right?” Baekhyun rolled his eyes. “Get a hobby.” He leaned back to catch the waitress’s eye as she walked past and flashed her a gleaming smile. “Hey, gorgeous. Could I get another Coke?”

“Sure!” She glanced around the table. “Can I get anything for anyone else?”

“Coffee,” Lu said.

“Coffee,” Sehun agreed.

“Coffee for me too, please,” Minseok said. “Zhang?”

“No, thank you.” Yixing waved an apologetic hand. “Nothing.”

“Alright, three coffees and a Coke, coming right up.” She slid Minseok and Yixing’s empty plates off the table and strode off in the direction of the kitchen.

It was comfortable, the way they talked while they finished their dinner. Baekhyun chatted animatedly, to such a degree that Yixing had to remind him to eat before his food went completely cold.

“Eat up or Zhang’ll do it for you,” Sehun said.

“Paws off,” Baekhyun sniffed, pulling his plate towards himself and guarding it with an arm as he nodded towards his Coke. “You can help me with that, though.”

“I thought Zhang hated Coke?” Sehun said.

“Euhhh,” Yixing agreed. “Black soda drink.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Baekhyun conceded.

Yixing tried to pick the meaning out of that. He knew _acquired_ , he knew _taste_ …

“It means you have to try it a few times before you’ll like it,” Minseok explained, noticing his confusion.

“Ohhh.” Yixing considered it, then slid the glass towards him. If drinking it would make him like it, then he might as well give it a go.

“Wooh!” Sehun cheered as Yixing took a sip.

“What do you think?” Lu asked.

Yixing pulled a face. It still tasted just as vile as the last time he’d been persuaded to drink it, but at least this time he was prepared for the bubbles. “The taste is still acquiring.”

Baekhyun laughed around a mouthful of burger.

“Isn’t he funny?”

“Yes, he’s precious,” Lu smirked. “Calm down, Julie Andrews.”

Baekhyun grinned, bread and cheese stuck to his teeth and threatening to fall out the corners of his rectangle.

“Just thinking ’bout my favourite things.”

Sehun spontaneously ejected a mouthful of coffee over the tabletop and had to be sopped up by an exasperated Lu.

“Cool it, Sehun,” Minseok said, “he doesn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, don’t I?” Baekhyun raised an eyebrow.

Minseok’s jaw dropped. “Wait. _Do_ you?”

“Welp, I’m finished my burger!” Baekhyun pushed his chair back and wiped his hands on his jeans as he stood. “I’ll go take care of the bill.”

He strode off to find the waitress, leaving Minseok to gape after him with his eyes bugging out of his head.

“Wait, wait. _Does he?_ ” He looked at Yixing. “Does he mean it like that?”

“Like… what?” Yixing cocked his head to the side, thoroughly confused.

“Nothing, don’t worry,” Lu said. “I’ll explain it to you later.”

“I’m confuse,” Yixing admitted.

“Ask Baek,” Sehun said. “I’m sure he’ll take the greatest pleasure of his life from explaining it to you.”

They caught up with Baekhyun by the front door. He had his hands in his pockets, a grin on his face, and when he caught Yixing’s gaze that twinkle settled into his eye.

“Y’all ready?”

They left the diner and wandered across the parking lot together, saying their goodbyes as Lu and Minseok turned to make their way over to their car on the other side of the street.

“Here they are. You kept us waiting!”

Belatedly, Yixing recognised the men loitering in the lot as the two boys from the table next to them, now joined by two burly friends.

“Leave us alone,” Lu said. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Better than teaching you a lesson? Can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.”

It was then that Yixing noticed the metal pipe one of the bigger boys was holding.

“Fuck,” Lu muttered, and stepped in front of Minseok.

It seemed to be the wrong thing to do.

“Get the bitch?” the first boy smirked.

“Get the bitch,” the boy with the pipe confirmed.

“ _No!_ ” Baekhyun yelled, but the two biggest boys were dragging Lu aside, and the shorter, smirkier one was taking the pipe-

“No, don’t!”

“Stay back!” Baekhyun shouted, and when Yixing looked at him he looked frantic, terrified. He was talking to Sehun, but pointing at Yixing. “Keep him out of it!”

As Baekhyun turned to meet the punch aimed at his face, Sehun shoved Yixing away, pushing and dragging him across the nearly empty parking lot. Baekhyun was yelling, Lu was screaming, and over Sehun’s shoulder Yixing could see the rhythmic, repeated flash of the pipe rising into the air.

-

“No, officer, it’s really okay. We don’t want any trouble.”

“We got a call. Said there was a fight going down.”

“Just a bit of a scuffle,” Sehun said, “over a girl. You know how it is.”

The officer smirked and closed his notebook. “Your friend okay?” He nodded to Minseok, curled up on the ground with Lu’s shaking, protective arms around him.

“He’s fine,” Sehun insisted. “Just got a bit of a kick where it hurts, ha ha.”

The officer eyed Lu’s pale, tear-stained face, Baekhyun’s black eye, the blood on his knuckles. He shrugged and slid his notebook back into his pocket.

“You boys get home safe.”

They watched him return to his partner in the squad car. No-one spoke until the taillights had disappeared around the corner.

“What the hell, Sehun?” Baekhyun hissed.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Sehun repeated.

“They tried to kill us!”

“Yes, and that’s going to be a very difficult line to argue if we want to press charges.”

“ _You’re a lawyer!_ ”

Sehun turned to him. “A couple of nice white boys beat up a bunch of Asians, you really think anyone’s going to believe we didn’t deserve it? That we didn’t start it, or provoke them somehow? You drew blood.” He nodded at Baekhyun’s clenched fist. “If we try to pin anything on them, they’ll take you down too.”

“Guys?” Lu pleaded. “We gotta get him to a doctor.”

Baekhyun squatted down in front of Minseok, who was curled around his own arm and shivering violently.

“Hey, buddy, you with us? Do you think you can stand?”

Minseok moved as if to climb to his knees, then gasped and cringed in on himself.

“We’ll go to the hospital,” Sehun said. “Han, give me your keys, I’ll drive. Can you carry him?”

Lu nodded, pulled his keys from his jacket and tossed them to Sehun, then gathered Minseok into his arms, his face contorting with reflective anguish at the way Minseok whimpered.

“You two get home,” Sehun said to Baekhyun. “I’ll call you later.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Baekhyun replied. “C’mon, Yixing.”

He strode away without another word and Yixing scurried after him. Minseok’s cry of pain as Lu maneuvered him into the car was audible from across the street, and Yixing hurried to catch up to Baekhyun.

“He will be okay?”

“I sure fucking hope so,” Baekhyun said, “or else I’m- I’ll- god. Yes. He’ll be okay.”

Baekhyun seemed livid the whole way to Mr. Peterson’s house. Yixing wanted to say something, to comfort him or reassure him or tell him that he was scared, but what scared him more than anything else was opening his mouth and saying something that would snap the final thread holding Baekhyun back from total, uncontrollable rage. Yixing sat on his hands and bit his lips together instead.

When they parked, Baekhyun made as if to get out of the car, then turned back, grabbed Yixing, and kissed him. Yixing tasted blood in Baekhyun’s mouth.

“Are you okay?”

Yixing nodded.

“Good. Let’s get this over with.”

When Yixing unlocked the front door, Mr. Peterson was sitting in his armchair, headphones on and hands choreographing. He looked up with a pleasant smile, then saw Baekhyun’s face and ripped his headphones off.

“Baekhyun? What the bloody hell’s happened?”

“Oh, you know,” Baekhyun sniffed derisively, “just your average hate crime.”

“ _What?_ ” Mr. Peterson jumped up and hurried over, hands outstretched towards Yixing as if to check him for injuries. “Are you okay?”

“We’re both fine,” Baekhyun said. “Minseok, on the other hand-”

“Oh no-”

“My friends have taken him to the hospital.” Baekhyun sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I’ll hear from them later tonight with the doctor’s verdict, but just from what it looked like to me… broken arm, definitely.”

“Jesus Christ. Baekhyun, _what happened?_ ”

“We got mugged,” Baekhyun said. “Bunch of idiots in a parking lot. Beat Minseok with an iron pipe.”

Mr. Peterson clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle a curse. In the next second, he was crossing the room to the phone.

“We’ve already spoken to the police!” Baekhyun said.

“ _And?_ ”

Baekhyun spread his hands and shrugged.

“ _Baekhyun,_ ” Mr. Peterson said, “two of my _coryphés_ have just been beaten bloody and _so help me_ the police will-”

“Thomas,” Baekhyun interrupted him. “Neither you nor we want that kind of press.”

They seemed to have a silent discussion between their glares for a minute. Several times Mr. Peterson’s eyes flicked to Yixing, who was torn between wanting to know what was going on and being glad they weren’t arguing aloud.

“Fine,” Mr. Peterson conceded. “God, you’re supposed to be _performing_ on Friday night.”

“What are we gonna do about that?”

“Hell if I know.” Mr. Peterson threw his hands in the air, then pressed them over his face and slid them back through his hair as if clawing for sanity. “We’ll work it out in the morning.”

“Alright.” Baekhyun nodded and took a step backwards towards the door. “I’m gonna head home and wait for that call.”

Mr. Peterson nodded by way of farewell. Baekhyun took another step back, looking at Yixing like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Yixing gave him a little wave, and Baekhyun offered something that was almost a smile before turning and leaving.

“Are you alright, Zhang?”

Yixing nodded. “Yes. Fine.”

“You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“No. Not me. Just Minseok, Baekhyun.” And Lu, who had not been hit so much as restrained so that he had the best possible view of Minseok as he tried desperately to protect his head from that pipe.

“Do you need a cup of tea? You look quite shaken, you poor thing.”

Yixing shook his head. “No. Thank you. I’m go… I go to bed.”

“Okay.” Mr. Peterson’s smile was sad and sympathetic. “If you need anything, I’ll be up a little while longer so just come find me.”

“Yes. Thanks. Goodnight.”

Yixing turned and climbed the stairs to his room. His ears were still ringing, the room far too quiet. He turned on the lamp on the desk, more for its high-pitched buzz to fill the space than because of any lack of light from the ceiling.

He brushed his teeth, changed into his pyjamas, and, because his mind was spinning too fast to sleep, sat down at his desk and pulled his books towards him.

Ten minutes later he was creeping back down the stairs.

“Mr. Peterson.”

“Zhang.” He turned away from the kitchen counter, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. “Do you need something?”

Yixing wriggled his bare toes against the vinyl, resisting the urge to scratch them against the top of his foot. “Tonight, I hear a word. Not understand, not find in dictionary.”

“Oh.” Mr. Peterson nodded encouragingly. “Yes, go ahead, what was it?”

Yixing frowned, wondering how much of the word’s sharpness was innate and how much was just a product of the smirking mouth from which it had been spat.

“Faggot.”


	6. Chapter 6

When they arrived at the studio the next morning, they found Baekhyun leaning against the wall outside Mr. Peterson’s office.

“Morning,” he said, as Mr. Peterson pulled his keys from his pocket.

“Good morning,” Mr. Peterson replied. “How did you sleep?”

“Not.” The bruise around Baekhyun’s eye had mottled into purple and black with a sickening green tinge at the edge, and the white of his eye was shot red.

“Hm.” Mr. Peterson nodded understandingly and pushed the door open to let Baekhyun and Yixing into the office. Once it was safely closed behind the three of them, he shrugged out of his coat and turned to Baekhyun. “So.”

“Broken arm,” Baekhyun said. “Fingers too. Three, or it might have been four. Either way.”

“God,” Mr. Peterson groaned. “So he’s in a cast for the next six-to-eight weeks, is that right?”

“Something like that.” Baekhyun sighed. “Plus physical therapy and all, Sehun said something about his shoulder…”

“Lord Almighty.” Mr. Peterson pressed a hand to his forehead as if holding his brain in place would help him think. “Well he’s certainly not performing tomorrow night, so now the only question is - are you?”

“What, cut the merchants?”

“If we have to.”

Baekhyun shook his head. “We’d have to cut the _pas de quatre_ as well, and probably the girls’ _pas de deux_.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do?” Mr. Peterson spread his hands. “I can’t pull anyone up from the _corps_ , none of them will be able to learn it in thirty-six hours, and all my other soloists are already performing!”

Baekhyun glanced at Yixing and had his mouth halfway open to say something when there was a tap on the door.

“Come in!”

The door squeaked ajar, and Minseok peeked around it.

“Min!” Baekhyun bounded over to wrench the door open. “What-!”

Minseok’s right arm was in a sling across his chest, three of his fingers were bound in splints, and his left cheek was badly scraped, but he gave a puffy smile as Baekhyun welcomed him into the room.

“Hey, good morning.”

“He insisted,” Lu said from the doorway.

“Oh, hello-” Mr. Peterson held his hand out to Lu. “You are-?”

“Han Lu.” Lu shook the offered hand and jerked his head towards Minseok. “I’m Minnie’s roommate.”

“Right, right. Come on in. Minseok, you didn’t need to come all the way over here! You should be resting.”

“Yes, well, I want to know who’s replacing me.”

Mr. Peterson pulled a face and opened his mouth, but didn’t get a chance to speak.

“Yixing is.”

All eyes turned to Baekhyun.

“What?” Yixing whispered.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Peterson said.

“Oh, fab.” Minseok nodded. “Groovy.”

“No, hang on,” Mr. Peterson waved his hands, “wait, wait, wait. Zhang can’t take Minseok’s place, we _open tomorrow night!_ ”

“And he’ll have it mastered by noon today,” Baekhyun shrugged. “He’s been watching me practise for weeks anyway, I’m pretty sure he already knows the whole dance. I just gotta teach him the _pas de quatre_.”

“But-” Mr. Peterson turned to Yixing. “It’s not that I don’t want you to do it, Zhang, but it’s such a lot to learn in a very short amount of time, and I know this isn’t what you signed up for as a summer student.”

“No, I can do it.” Yixing nodded. “Baekhyun teach me. I’ll work hard.”

“I…” Mr. Peterson paused, then shrugged and spread his hands as if to say _well, so be it_. “I suppose that’s what we’ll do, then.”

“Do you want a hand teaching, Baek?”

“Nah,” Baekhyun waved Minseok away. “I’ll be alright. You rest up, ice your shoulder.”

“Okey dokey.” Minseok grinned. “You need me to get you some for that eye?”

Baekhyun groaned. “Stop, I’m so ugly right now. What I really need is some extra-strength concealer.”

“Not ugly,” Yixing objected. He wanted so desperately to pull Baekhyun’s head to his chest, kiss that poor bruised eyelid, hold him close and tell him that his strength and courage were more handsome than the smoothest of skin, but he had neither the words nor the privacy to do so.

“You’re right,” Baekhyun said, pretending to toss his hair. “Nothing could make me ugly.” He walked to the door, slapping Lu on the back and gently ruffling Minseok’s hair as he passed. “C’mon, Yixing, we’ve got work to do!”

-

By the time the sun had migrated far enough across the sky to stream in through the West-facing windows, Yixing had learned the _pas de deux_ with Baekhyun, the _pas de quatre_ they would do with the two girls at whom they were “making eyes”, and most of the intervening background movements for the dances during which they were simply part of the crowd milling around the edges of the stage.

“I’m calling it there,” Baekhyun panted, slumping against the mirror. “You’ve got it, you know it. We can go over it some more later, maybe with the girls tomorrow morning. Right now it’s past lunch time, and I’m so hungry I might actually eat my own feet.”

“Please don’t eat your feet,” Yixing said. “Then I have to teach someone _else_ these dance.”

Baekhyun gave a weak attempt at a laugh. “Eating’s about all they’re good for, cause I sure can’t do much else with ’em right now.”

“You’re tired,” Yixing observed. The shadows underneath Baekhyun’s eyes were so pronounced it looked like he had _two_ black eyes.

“No shit,” Baekhyun said. “Six hours of straight dancing on maybe thirty minutes of sleep, and that’s _after_ the adrenaline crash from last night. I need some pizza and a goddamn nap.”

He shrugged on his hoodie, shoved his feet into his sneakers, and stood by the door to wait while Yixing did the same. As Yixing reached for the handle, though, Baekhyun suddenly grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him aside so that they were out of sight of the tiny window in the door.

“Just realised I forgot to say it - thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Why?”

“For dropping everything to learn this. We would’ve had to cut three whole dances if it weren’t for you.”

“Then you wouldn’t get to perform at all.”

“Yeah.” Baekhyun smiled. “So I’m real grateful.”

He swayed forward and kissed Yixing, soft and fleeting as he rocked onto the balls of his feet and back.

“You’ve worked really hard,” he whispered.

“You too.” Yixing caught Baekhyun’s face between his hands to keep him from swaying back against the wall and kissed him again, just as soft but lingering this time, resting there until Baekhyun reached up and patted his hands.

“Let’s go.”

They drove back to Baekhyun’s place, where they made sandwiches and ate in soporific silence leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Ugh,” Baekhyun muttered, as he stacked the plates by the sink, “I’m sore all over.”

“Muscle-?” Yixing mimed the yank of a pulled muscle.

“Pfft, no. How come I can dance for ten hours without even noticing it, but the minute I gotta throw a punch it’s like I just got run over by a steamroller?” He sighed. “This body was made for eating ass, not beating ass.”

Yixing patted his back sympathetically. “You want to sleep?”

“Yeah. Actually, no.” Baekhyun turned and brushed a hand across Yixing’s forehead, pushing his hair back and running one soft thumb along his eyebrow. “You know what I want? I want a bath.”

“Mm.” Yixing nodded. “Hot water relax your body.”

“ _Exactly_.” Baekhyun leaned up to peck a kiss to Yixing’s forehead. “Soak it all out and then sleep for the whole afternoon. You wanna have a bath with me, ’Xing?”

That sounded nice. “Yes.”

Baekhyun drew a bath, and they sat at opposite ends of the tub - Baekhyun against the smooth end and Yixing with his back to the taps. With their legs bent between them so that their knees broke the surface, there was just enough room for both of them.

“Yep,” Baekhyun sighed, closing his eyes and sinking a little deeper, “this is exactly what I need.”

“Nice,” Yixing agreed. He nudged his toe into Baekhyun’s thigh, aiming for gentle and instead making Baekhyun jump and wriggle away from him.

“Oi.” He reached down and pulled Yixing’s foot out of the water. “Oh, look at your poor toes. Too many _jetés_.” He prodded one of the calluses on Yixing’s foot and rubbed his thumb underneath the ball of his big toe.

“Mmm.” Yixing leaned back against the taps. He barely noticed the blisters and abrasions on his feet anymore - they’d been a part of him for half his life at this point, and there was no use complaining about them when they were such a standard component of the art - but having Baekhyun rub his foot like that was so nice, so relaxing. No-one had ever done this for him before.

He fished around in the water between them and hooked Baekhyun up by the ankle to return the favour. Baekhyun moaned as Yixing’s thumbs pressed into the sole of his foot and began to rub in little circles.

“Will you be mad if I say this is better than sex right now?”

Yixing shook his head. “My foot is having orgasm.”

“Saaame.”

They spent a long few minutes in warm, comfortable silence, just the drip of water and the occasional contented sigh lingering among the steam. When every blister had been soothed and every toe tweaked, Baekhyun leaned forward to tap Yixing’s knees.

“Turn around.”

Yixing obediently shuffled around to face the taps. Baekhyun grabbed him by the hips and slid him closer until they were pressed chest-to-back and Baekhyun could wrap his arms around Yixing’s waist and snuggle a kiss into his hair.

“Comfy?”

“Hm?”

“Are you comfy?”

Yixing craned his neck to look over his shoulder at Baekhyun. “What’s comfy?”

“Oh- comfortable.” Baekhyun kissed his nose.

“Oh. Yes.” Yixing settled back against Baekhyun’s chest. “Very comfy.”

“Mmm.” Baekhyun pressed his smile into Yixing’s temple. “Good.”

His arms were as warm as the water, solid and safe around Yixing’s body, and the gentle pressure of his chest against Yixing’s back as it rose and fell with the rhythm of his breath was a soothing lullaby.

Baekhyun began to hum, tracing his nose through Yixing’s hair and stroking fingers over his wrists beneath the water. For a minute or two his voice was just a soft buzz against the back of Yixing’s head, fading into silence every few notes and regrowing with each new breath.

At about the point that Yixing realised this was an actual song and not just a made-up tune, Baekhyun began to sing.

“ _Cause we’re living in a world of fools,_ _  
_ _Breaking us down,_ _  
_ _When they all should let us be._ ”

He kissed the shell of Yixing’s ear, his lips soft and voice softer.

“ _We belong to you and me._ ”

-

The late afternoon sun was warm on Yixing’s skin. Baekhyun was snuggled into his arms, his hair just tickling the end of Yixing’s nose on each breath, the bed was deliciously soft beneath them, and someone was pounding on the front door.

\-- _Mm- who is it?_

He lifted his head, squinting at the bead curtain as if it would tell him who had decided to interrupt their nap with all that banging.

“Mmf-” Baekhyun pressed his face more firmly into Yixing’s chest.

“You have visitor,” Yixing said.

“Tell ’em to fuck off,” Baekhyun muttered.

“I think he really want to see you.”

The hammering grew louder, accompanied by a shout of Baekhyun’s name.

“Oh, for fuck’s- it’s J.D.,” Baekhyun said. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell him to fuck off myself.”

He rolled off the bed and stumbled out to the living room, the bead curtain swishing behind him. Yixing sat up on the bed and waited for the sound of the door opening.

“J.D. Kim,” Baekhyun said. “To what do I owe th-”

“I can’t let you go _anywhere_ on your own!”

“Nice to see you too.”

“Oh _look at your eye_ you idiot, you had to go and get yourself beaten up-”

“Excuse me-” the door snapped shut, “I didn’t go and get myself anything. They were a bunch of racist ass-”

“Yes, but it wasn’t just racist, was it? _Was it_ , Baekhyun?”

“… No.”

“ _Baek_ ,” J.D. groaned. “You’ve _got_ to keep it under wraps when you’re out in public! Otherwise-”

“Hey, hey, it wasn’t just me! Minseok and Seh-”

“You’re the one with the loud voice!” J.D. cried. “Minseok has volume control, and god knows no-one can understand Sehun when he’s _trying_ to speak up, but you have this foghorn voice and one day it’s gonna get you _kil-_ ”

“ _Shhh!_ ”

“What, why?” A pause. “Baekhyun. Who else is here?”

As Baekhyun sighed, Yixing decided this was probably the best time to make his presence known. He crept to the doorway and peeked between the strings of beads.

“Oh, it- it’s just Zhang.” J.D. turned and gave Baekhyun a smack on the arm. “I thought you were going to say your _mother_ was in the kitchen or something!”

“God, no. You think I’d be out here discussing my flaming homosexuality if my mother were anywhere within a five-mile radius?”

“Honestly? I wouldn’t put it past you.”

J.D. seemed relieved, but as his eyes flickered to Yixing again it was with a new shade of apprehension.

“Don’t worry,” Baekhyun told him, beckoning Yixing across the room. “I just didn’t want you to get too dramatic and scare him.” He took Yixing’s hand and laced their fingers together, squeezing tight and looking J.D. right in the eyes.

“Jeez,” J.D. muttered. “I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

“Of course I do.”

“Yeah, of course you do.” J.D. sighed and patted Baekhyun on the shoulder. “I just- please be safe, okay? Both of you.”

“Yes, Mama Bear.”


	7. Chapter 7

_“Fifteen minutes.”_

Yixing blinked and scrutinised his eyes in the mirror. The eyeliner was even, certainly, but was it thick enough?

“Hey, you ready?” Baekhyun’s face appeared over his shoulder, peering around the door.

“Hmm.” Yixing tilted his head to the side, still considering his eyes. Baekhyun slipped through the door and closed it quietly behind him, glancing quickly around the room as if checking to make sure there were no other straggling soloists lurking in the corners as he darted across to Yixing.

“You look good,” he whispered, and when Yixing turned around Baekhyun took his face in his hands and kissed him softly. “You look great. You got your pins in?”

Yixing patted his shoulders to check the safety pins holding his jacket to his leotard were still in place. “Yes.”

“Good.” Baekhyun grinned. “Okay. You ready to go kick ass?”

As he turned away, Yixing lifted his foot and tapped it against Baekhyun’s bottom. Baekhyun jumped and laughed, took Yixing’s hand, and led him down to the stage.

The one thing Baekhyun hadn’t told him, in all their frantic last-minute practising, was whereabouts in the programme their dance was actually located. Yixing remembered the basic structure of the story from performing it at the Academy, but not only had that been a good five years ago, the American version also seemed to be substantially different. He stuck close to Baekhyun, shadowing him through the crowd populating the “town square”, bowing when he bowed, posing when he posed, keeping him in his peripheral vision and matching his steps until Baekhyun caught him by the elbow and pointed across the stage at the two girls they had practised with for about five minutes that morning.

_Here we go_ , Yixing thought, as his heart tripped in his chest. What was the first step? _Tombé_? _Cabriole_? His breath caught at the back of his throat in a moment of panic, and his brain went completely blank.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Baekhyun’s weight shift. _Tombé_! Like that, the dance snapped back into place, and they were off across the stage towards the girls.

Being romantic alongside Baekhyun wasn’t all that different from being romantic _to_ him, Yixing found. He would look at Baekhyun and see that cheeky grin, and all he had to do was take the thrill in his chest and turn it outwards, sending it to the far corner of the stage where the two girls were hiding their smiles behind coquettish hands.

When they finished their final showy competition of _tours en l’air_ \- single, double, triple, to whistles and applause - Yixing felt the smile dimpling into his cheek become less composed and more genuine. Dancing next to Baekhyun, he felt more at home on the stage than he ever had.

-

It was a jubilant crowd that met them at the stage door. J.D. hugged Baekhyun off his feet, while Minseok wrapped his good arm around Yixing and patted him warmly between the shoulders.

“You did really well,” he said into Yixing’s ear. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Yixing hugged him back gently, conscious of the sling between them. “I’m sorry you did not dance.”

Minseok shook his head. “I’ll have other opportunities.”

“Far out, Zhang,” Lu cried, pounding him on the back, “that was awesome!”

“Awesome,” Sehun agreed, looking up from the congratulatory headlock he had wrestled Baekhyun into.

Zhixiang, standing at the back of the group with his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his waistcoat, nodded enthusiastically. “I can’t believe you learned it in two days!”

“He’s amazing,” Baekhyun coughed, wriggling out from under Sehun’s arm. “Let go of me, you dork.” He straightened up and twitched his shirt back into place. “You wouldn’t believe this was his first professional performance, would you?”

“ _What?_ ”

Yixing nodded. “I’m student. Dance with the Seattle Ballet is a great honour.”

“Holy cow,” J.D. whistled. “This calls for celebration. Who’s in for a party?”

“Shit yes,” Baekhyun said. “I could go for hours. Hey, Thomas!” He caught Mr. Peterson by the sleeve as he walked past. “Don’t expect Yixing home tonight, okay? It’s party time.”

“Good lord,” Mr. Peterson said. “You still have nine more shows to do, just remember that!”

“We’ll be good!”

Mr. Peterson rolled his eyes fondly and waved them goodbye as they piled out into the night.

“Hey,” Baekhyun whispered into Yixing’s ear as they made their way around the corner to the parking lot. “The club we’re going to tonight is a bit different, okay? Just so you’re prepared.”

Yixing blinked at him. “How different?”

Baekhyun just grinned. “You’ll see.”

_Different_ , apparently, meant lots of feathers and glitter everywhere. There were the same disco lights and the undercurrent of throbbing bass, but as soon as they stepped through the door Yixing couldn’t help but notice that the people here were brighter, more exuberant, their clothes sparklier and makeup flashier.

“Welcome to our world, Yixing!” Baekhyun shouted over the pulsing music.

“What is this?” Yixing yelled back, “it’s so-” he mimed the flash of strobe lights off sequins.

“Shiny?” Baekhyun laughed. “Yeah. These are our people. This is where we shine.”

He grabbed Yixing’s hand and pulled him out onto the dancefloor, and this time there was no careful arm’s-length, no little hops and pointing hands between groups of friends. Baekhyun pulled him close, his hands all over Yixing’s hips, and kissed him as they began to move.

Yixing pulled back with a squeak of fright, but Baekhyun hooked an arm around his neck.

“It’s okay,” he said into Yixing’s ear. “No-one will hate us here.”

Yixing looked around at the other couples on the dancefloor. With a shock, he realised that they weren’t paired off the same way as in the other clubs he’d visited with Baekhyun. Men danced with men, women with women - most of the people in the thick makeup and sparkly dresses looked like they might be male, and there were women with short hair who seemed more masculine than half the guys.

“They’re all like us,” Baekhyun told him. “We can be ourselves.”

Yixing could feel his own eyes wide with disbelief. “I can kiss you?”

Baekhyun beamed, beatific and rectangular. “As much as you want.”

He tried it, leaning in to plant a quick peck on Baekhyun’s lips, then drew back with his heart thumping in his chest. He waited, tense, for someone to say something, for a shout or a blow or another iron pipe. Nothing happened.

“See?” Baekhyun said. “It’s okay.” He slid his fingers into Yixing’s hair and drew him in, easing his mouth open with a kiss and holding him close as they swayed together.

When they finally pulled apart for breath, Yixing found himself giggling.

“Why don’t we come here before?”

Baekhyun smirked. “Word to the wise, Yixing: when a good communist boy arrives off the plane from Beijing, you don’t drag him straight to a gay bar.”

Yixing snorted, and Baekhyun laughed, and then they were kissing again.

“I love America,” Yixing whispered into Baekhyun’s lips between snatches of breath.

“I love _you_ ,” Baekhyun replied, and kissed the capacity for any response right out of Yixing’s mouth.

The others were dancing around them. Minseok’s long hair and soft features usually afforded him some androgyny, but right now Lu’s hands had every wisp scraped back from his face to expose the line of his jaw as they kissed, Minseok’s good hand clutching at Lu’s back, their hips moving so closely that Yixing wondered whether it was comfortable to have a broken arm squished between them like that. Sehun and Zhixiang were doing their usual complex improvisation, but this time they had managed to drag J.D. into it, and there was butt-slapping involved.

“Do you want a drink?”

Yixing nodded. His mouth was dry from the thrill of kissing Baekhyun so publicly like this, his head spinning and fingers fuzzy. That fuzz spread all the way up his wrist when Baekhyun took his hand to lead him across the room to the bar.

“How are you folks doing?” the bartender yelled to them as Baekhyun pushed Yixing onto a stool at the counter.

“Great!” Baekhyun nodded. “It’s a special night - this is my boy’s first time in a gay bar!”

“Really?” The bartender’s sculpted eyebrows arched up towards his hairline. “What can I get you, darling? First one’s on the house - we’ve just got a beautiful new bourbon if that’s your thing.”

“Ah-” Yixing looked at Baekhyun.

“He doesn’t drink,” Baekhyun said.

“Okay!” The bartender picked up a glass and set it down on the counter. “I can do soda too. Coke, Sprite, ginger ale?”

“Uh-” it was hard enough trying to hear above the throb of the music, and the bartender was talking really fast. In a moment of panic, Yixing repeated the only word he’d caught that he knew. “Coke.”

“Done!” The bartender filled the glass and slid it towards him, then turned to Baekhyun. “What about you, love?”

As Baekhyun ordered his drink, Yixing stared at the glass sitting on the bar in front of him. Droplets of condensation were beginning to trickle down the sides, tiny bubbles rising to the surface and popping around the ice cubes. What had he done?

“Let’s go find a table,” Baekhyun said, sliding two more glasses towards Yixing and picking up the remaining four, two in each hand. “Are you able to carry those?”

Yixing nodded and fumbled his three glasses around until he could pick them all up between his hands. He followed Baekhyun as he weaved his way through the crowd to a recently-vacated table, set his clutch of drinks down and pushed all the empty glasses to the side, then slid onto one of the stools and watched Yixing carefully maneuver his three drinks onto the table without spilling them.

“Did you really just get a Coke?”

Yixing nodded.

“You hate Coke.”

Yixing pulled a face. “I couldn’t think.”

“Oh no, honey!” Baekhyun burst out laughing, smacking a hand to Yixing’s arm. “Oh sweetie. It’s okay, give that to Sehun, I’ll buy you an orange juice.”

“No, no,” Yixing shook his head. This drink was a gift from the bartender; he couldn’t give it away. “I drink it.”

“Yo!” Lu barrelled into Baekhyun’s back, one arm falling around his shoulder. “Did you just buy drinks for everyone?”

“You bet I did,” Baekhyun said. “And the next round’s on you, because _I’m_ the one that just brought the damn house down.”

“I’ll buy you a drink,” Zhixiang said as he leaned an elbow on Yixing’s shoulder. “The sight of your legs in tights, I pay anything for that.”

“You’re fucking right.” Baekhyun leaned sideways into Lu to _développé_ his leg above his head. A man in a sequined dress and a feather scarf whistled at him as he walked by, and Baekhyun turned to blow a kiss to him.

Yixing glared at his glass, summoning the courage to pick it up. It was just a drink. He couldn’t let it defeat him.

“Are these all the same?” Sehun asked, pointing between the glasses on the table.

“Yeah, they’re all beer. Unless you want Yixing’s Coke.”

“Zhang got Coke?” Minseok raised his eyebrows. “How’d that happen?”

“I dunno, but it’s up for grabs.”

Enough deliberating. Yixing grabbed the glass and raised it to his lips. With a deep breath he closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and steadily drank the whole thing.

“ _Woah!_ ”

“Holy shit, Zhang!”

“ _Yeah, buddy!_ ”

Yixing slammed the empty glass back down on the table and pinched his nose as the bubbles stung his head.

\-- _Ah- oh my god._

“Yay!” One of the sparkly ladies passing by their table threw her arm around Yixing’s neck and hugged him. “Get wasted, baby! It’s Friday night!” She smacked a giant pink kiss to his cheek and sashayed off through the crowd.

“Was that a man?” Yixing asked, turning to stare after her. Her voice had boomed in his ear, and he couldn’t quite match it to the sway of her hips.

“They’re called drag queens,” J.D. explained. “Just address them all as _sweetheart_ and _darling_ and don’t worry too much about it.”

“Lovely ladies,” Minseok added. “If anyone’s gonna hold your hair back while you’re throwing up, it’s gonna be a queen.”

“You would know,” Baekhyun said.

“Why, cause I do the throwing up, or the hair holding?”

“Both,” Sehun said.

“True,” Minseok laughed, batting his eyelashes. “Depends on the evening.”

“I miss Mindy Frost,” Lu sighed. He pulled Minseok’s head towards him and kissed the parting of his hair.

“Oh, she’s still around,” Minseok winked.

“Really?” Lu pulled back to look at him, gleefully incredulous.

“Mhm.” Minseok took a sip of his beer, his eyebrows raised over the rim of the glass. “She’ll be back.”

“Babe!” Lu hugged Minseok close and rocked him back and forth as J.D. grabbed his beer from him to set it on the table so it wouldn’t spill.

Yixing blinked at Baekhyun for an explanation, but Baekhyun just grinned and waved him away as if to say _I’ll explain later_.

“Okay, to the real reason we’re here,” J.D. said loudly. “Baek and Zhang just had the most phenomenal opening night in the history of the Seattle Ballet, and that deserves a toast, not to mention a _huge_ round of applause.”

“ _Wooh!_ ” Sehun lifted his glass high into the air and cheered almost directly into Yixing’s ear.

“Here’s to Yixing,” Baekhyun said, tilting his beer in Yixing’s direction. “The only man I know who can pick up two dances in as many days and perform them both to absolute perfection with an entire show riding on his shoulders.”

“Hell yeah!” The others raised their glasses and drank.

“Baekhyun taught me these dances,” Yixing insisted. “He worked harder - didn’t sleep, then dance all day.”

“Yeah Baekkie!” Sehun shouted.

“Well, I’m sure gonna fuckin’ sleep tonight,” Baekhyun laughed into his beer.

“I’ll drink to that,” Minseok said. “A good night’s sleep, god, what a concept.”

Lu pulled a sympathetic face and rubbed a hand up and down Minseok’s back, careful of his injured shoulder.

“Thanks so much for coming tonight, you guys.” Baekhyun patted Sehun and J.D. on the elbows, and reached over Yixing’s shoulder to clasp Zhixiang by the arm. “It was a good show, I’m really glad you could all be there to see it.”

“Thank _you_ for getting the comp tickets,” Zhixiang said. “Who can afford ballet seats on opening night? Pfft.”

“ _You’re a lawyer_.”

“I’m a _community_ lawyer.” Zhixiang pinched at his pockets as if turning them inside out. “You think it pay a lot of money? I have to get _scholarship_ for Ph.D., can’t even afford my own pencils.”

As Sehun burst out into wheezing laughter, the music over the speakers changed with a scream of piano.

“Oh shit!” Baekhyun yelled, smacking his beer down on the table.

“It’s your song, Baekkie!” J.D. said.

“It’s my fucking song!”

“Remember how you and Min danced to this when it first came out?”

“Hell yes, c’mon Minnie-” Baekhyun grabbed Minseok’s good hand and dragged him just far enough from the table to dance as the music turned to lyrics.

_“You can dance,_ __  
_You can jive,_ _  
_ _Having the time of your life-”_

“Wow, you’re so right,” Zhixiang said, watching the pair of them go absolutely nuts. “This is them, hundred percent.”

_“See that girl-”_ Minseok swung his hair in circles.

_“Watch that scene-”_ Baekhyun struck a model’s pose, then took Minseok’s hand and spun him in circles as they shouted the next line together.

_“Digging the Dancing Queen!”_

-

“Thanks for a fab night,” Minseok said, giving Yixing a sideways hug and pressing his face against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Yixing echoed, rubbing him on the back. “It was fun.”

“Okay, you-” Baekhyun hooked Sehun’s car keys out of his hand, “are too drunk to drive.” He handed the keys to J.D. and patted his hand closed around them.

“I only had a couple of beers!” Sehun protested.

J.D. pointed at his own nose. “C’mon.”

With a scowl, Sehun huffed a breath onto J.D.’s face.

“Too drunk,” J.D. shook his head.

“How am I?” Baekhyun asked, leaning forward to breathe on J.D.’s nose.

J.D. sniffed for a second, then nodded. “You’re good.”

“Awesome.” Baekhyun clapped him on the shoulder, then leaned past him to hug Lu goodbye. “Get home safe.”

“You too.”

“I’m gonna call you first thing in the morning, wake you up with hangover!” Zhixiang said, slinging his arms around Baekhyun’s neck and dragging him off-balance into a backwards hug.

“I’m not even gonna be hungover, but I’ll still come to your house and beat the shit out of you if you call me before twelve noon,” Baekhyun promised.

“I’ll be happy to see you!” Zhixiang grinned.

“Idiot.” Baekhyun pushed him off and gave him a friendly cuff over the back of the head. “You ready to go, Yixing?”

Yixing nodded, giving everyone a last bow and a wave goodbye as the pair of them turned to walk to Baekhyun’s car.

“Did you have a good night?” Baekhyun asked, bumping his shoulder into Yixing’s.

“Good,” Yixing confirmed. “A lot of fun.”

“That’s good, I’m glad.” Baekhyun glanced a smile at him. “Would you be keen to go there again sometime?”

Yixing nodded emphatically. “Keen.”

“Keen as a green bean.”

“Huh?”

Baekhyun laughed, pulling his keys out of his pocket as they reached the car. “Don’t worry, I’m just being stupid.”

He unlocked the passenger door. Before he opened it, though, he glanced up and down the street, then quickly pressed Yixing against the side of the car and kissed him.

“Mm!” Yixing gave a surprised little squeak.

“I’m never gonna stop being reckless when it comes to you,” Baekhyun whispered, then opened the door and held it for Yixing, who slid into the car as fast as possible to hide his burning cheeks.

It wasn’t until they passed the turnoff to the richer suburbs that Yixing realised the night wasn’t over yet.

“You’re not taking me home?”

“Not to Thomas’s house, no.”

Yixing looked at him, counting the hopeful beats of his heart between his collarbones until Baekhyun elaborated.

“I thought you could stay at my place.”

The trip of his pulse into his throat, the squeeze of his chest as the very air danced in his lungs - falling for Baekhyun was an endless series of painful pleasures.

They didn’t turn on the lights as they entered - the street lamps outside and the sliver of moonlight through the window were enough to cast a glow across the room as Baekhyun locked the door behind them and turned to face Yixing.

“How tired are you?”

Yixing shrugged. “Not much.”

“Do you need a drink or anything?” Baekhyun stepped close enough to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Yixing’s ear.

“No,” Yixing shook his head. “I’m okay.” Baekhyun’s fingers were tracing down the very edge of his ear, and it was sending a shiver of nerves across his skin.

“M’kay.” Baekhyun seemed content to learn the curve of his earlobe, and Yixing had to push his hand out of the way so he could lean forward and kiss him.

Baekhyun sighed, his fingers flexing on Yixing’s shoulder. For a moment they just kissed in silence, and then Baekhyun pulled back, one hand to his mouth.

“How’s my breath?”

Yixing shrugged. “Fine.” He smelled a little bit like beer, but mostly just like Baekhyun.

“Okay.” Baekhyun nodded, reassured. “Okay.” He rose up onto his tiptoes to throw his arms around Yixing’s neck and kiss him deeper, longer, all lips and no air.

When Yixing had to pull back and trail his kisses across Baekhyun’s cheek to give himself a moment to breathe, Baekhyun sighed and tucked his fingers into the collar of Yixing’s shirt to stroke the warm skin where shoulders met spine.

“I really let myself fall in love with you way too fast,” he murmured, tilting his head to give Yixing access to the soft space just under his jaw.

“Is it bad?” Yixing wondered, between kisses sucked into the drum of Baekhyun’s pulse.

“No,” Baekhyun whispered. “I think it might be the best thing I’ve ever done.”

When Yixing scooped a hand behind Baekhyun’s legs to hoist him up into his arms, Baekhyun wrapped his arms around his neck and pressed close as Yixing carried him through the bead curtain into the bedroom. Instead of throwing him onto the bed, though, Yixing turned and sat at the end of it with Baekhyun in his lap, slid a hand up into his hair and pulled his mouth back into reach, and for a moment there was just the quiet movement of lips and the occasional wisp of breath.

“Baekhyun.” His voice stuck in his throat, and he nudged his nose into Baekhyun’s cheek, searching for the courage to admit the thing that Baekhyun probably, hopefully, already knew.

“What?” Baekhyun’s hands caressed Yixing’s face, pulling him back so they could look at each other. “Are you okay?”

Yixing nodded. He reached up and pushed a stray hair back off Baekhyun’s forehead, trailed that thumb down his nose, brushed over his lip and rolled around his chin before falling away, hanging in the air between them for a moment, then pressing his palm to his own chest, feeling the pound of his heart, catching it and picking up Baekhyun’s hand so he could fold that rhythm into his grasp.

“Owner of my heart.”

Baekhyun’s eyes were black in the moonlight, but the part of his lips was clear enough, the way his hand closed into Yixing’s, and when he leaned forward to kiss him again it was with enough insistence to push Yixing down onto his back on the bed.

Yixing could feel himself hard in his pants, the throb of it almost as insistent as the ache in his chest to hold Baekhyun closer, tighter, so tight that he became a part of Yixing’s being.

Baekhyun turned, twisted on top of him to straddle his hips, and with his hands in Yixing’s hair he began to grind down against him.

“Can you imagine if we could come home like this every night?” he murmured. “Do whatever we want, take our time - no deadlines, nowhere else to be, just you and me. Imagine that.”

“Heaven,” Yixing decided.

“It feels like it, yeah.”

He kissed Yixing’s cheek, his jaw, the spark of fire crackling just behind his ear. The press of his mouth, the roll of his hips, his hands clutching at Yixing’s hair - it was a perfect trilogy of sensation, magnetising Yixing’s hands to Baekhyun’s waist to pull him closer.

It was such a sweet progression to roll over so that he was on top of Baekhyun, dragging his hips down against him and taking every gasp before it could even leave Baekhyun’s tongue. His hands worked of their own accord, untucking Baekhyun’s shirt and sliding up beneath it, fumbling open the buttons until he could tear his mouth away from Baekhyun’s lips and trail it straight down the centre of his chest.

Baekhyun groaned, scratching at Yixing’s shoulders and stroking through his hair as Yixing kissed a steady line across his abs. “God- ’Xing-”

Yixing hummed into the dip of Baekhyun’s hip as he shuffled his pants off him. Baekhyun’s cock was hard, hot beneath the fabric of his boxers, and as Yixing’s cheek brushed against it Baekhyun moaned and twitched underneath him.

“Yixing, are you about to suck me? Cause I swear to god, if you’re about to suck me then I might just explode.”

Yixing kissed the curve of Baekhyun’s abdomen where it disappeared into his underwear, then frowned and raised his head. “What?”

“What what?”

“Suck…?” Maybe that word had a different meaning in this context, because Baekhyun couldn’t be suggesting-

“You want a demonstration?” Baekhyun sat up and dragged Yixing closer to kiss him, an edge of roughness on his tongue. “You want me to show you how? I can do that.” He pushed Yixing over onto his back and made quick work of his belt buckle, yanking the hem of his shirt out of the way with his teeth to give himself access to Yixing’s underwear. He pulled his pants and briefs down as one, just to his knees at first and then, as Yixing’s thighs twitched under his palms, all the way down so that Yixing could kick them off over the edge of the bed.

The shiver of Baekhyun’s touch was like ripples in a pool, each finger a pebble and Yixing’s entire body liquid under his hands.

There was something so intoxicating about the way Baekhyun kissed a winding path up his thighs, jumping in zig-zags from one leg to the other, finding the tiny freckles that dotted his skin and pouring worship over them until Yixing’s very bones rang with the pleasure of his mouth. Yixing was so caught up in it, so lost in the sea that Baekhyun created of him, that he didn’t really think about where those kisses were heading.

The sudden touch of Baekhyun’s tongue against his cock had Yixing sitting bolt upright, scrabbling at the bed for support and at Baekhyun’s head for pause.

“Wh- what-”

Baekhyun looked up at him, his thumb still tracing over the base of Yixing’s cock as he licked his lips.

“Vocab lesson,” he said. “This is called a _blowjob_ , also known as _fellatio_ , _sucking dick_ , and _fuck my face, Yixing, I want to feel you between my tonsils until next week_.”

And then, with Yixing still gaping at him, he opened his mouth and slid Yixing’s entire cock into it.

\-- _O- oh my god, Baekhyun, what are you doing-_

Baekhyun’s hand glided up to his stomach and pushed him back down onto the bed, giving himself enough room to sink all the way down until his nose brushed the curls of Yixing’s pubic hair. He didn’t stay there long, bouncing back up to the tip and swirling his tongue under the head until Yixing choked and shuddered under his lips.

“Oh, f- fuck.”

Baekhyun hummed approvingly, and the buzz of his voice had Yixing’s toes curling in the sheets. He was light-headed already, the moving heat of Baekhyun’s mouth sucking all the air out of his body and replacing it with fire in every cell.

“Baek-”

Baekhyun’s head was bobbing now, the pressure of his tongue tracing up and down, finding the right points to lick _just like that_ , and Yixing was starting to lose it.

\-- _It’s close, I can feel it- you have to stop, or it’s going to go in your mouth-_

Baekhyun gave another little hum, blissfully unaware, his hands curling around Yixing’s hips and urging them up to fuck Yixing’s cock deeper into his throat.

“B- ah- Baekhyun- in your mouth-”

Baekhyun nodded, eyes closed, his lips firmly sealed around Yixing’s cock and his tongue flicking under the head, over the hole, into that spot just underneath where it felt like the bottom was falling out of Yixing’s stomach-

\-- _Oh- here it comes-_

Baekhyun didn’t even flinch. As Yixing twitched with the heat of the sun inside his body, Baekhyun’s tongue kept working over the underside of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of fire.

When the last wave had washed away, Yixing opened his eyes to see Baekhyun leaning over him on hands and knees. The intensity of the pride in his eyes was almost embarrassing, enough that Yixing wanted to cover his face to save himself from being the source of it. Before he could move, though, Baekhyun’s tongue swiped out of his mouth to collect the last trickle of Yixing’s come from his chin, and Yixing realised.

“You ate it.”

Baekhyun nodded. “I have been creaming my pants trying to imagine how you taste.” His grin turned devilish. “Turns out you’re better than anything my sexpot brain could come up with.”

\-- _Oh my god._

Baekhyun laughed, crawling forward until he could duck his head and drag his nose up the side of Yixing’s neck. “I won’t ask you to return the favour, but fuck, I want you to touch me.”

Yixing lifted his hand to the back of Baekhyun’s neck and trailed it around his shoulder, over his chest, down his stomach until he reached the waistband of his boxers.

“Yeah,” Baekhyun whispered, his lips brushing against Yixing’s earlobe. “C’mon, ’Xing.”

Yixing tugged the elastic down past Baekhyun’s hips and took hold of his cock. Baekhyun hummed into his ear, then gasped and bit his lip as Yixing began to move his hand.

“Oh yeah, fuck, just there.”

He kissed the side of Yixing’s face, along his cheekbone and down his jaw, and when Yixing turned his head to direct him towards his mouth Baekhyun met him eagerly. Yixing tried to use his fingers to replicate the things Baekhyun had done with his tongue, stroking them over the head of his cock and rubbing his thumb into that spot just underneath. It seemed to be working - Baekhyun’s breath was coming faster against his skin, his hips moving to push himself into Yixing’s touch, and with a little shift of weight he had his hand in Yixing’s hair to hold him close as he kissed him.

When Baekhyun came it was without warning. One second he was sucking at Yixing’s bottom lip and the next he was gasping against his throat, shaking and thrusting into Yixing’s hand with little jerks of his hips.

The thrill of Baekhyun coming from just the touch of his hand was a powerful drug. Yixing found himself smiling into Baekhyun’s hair, taking every shiver of his body and wrapping it around his heart. He could do this to Baekhyun with his touch, he had that power, and if Baekhyun’s orgasms were anything like his own then that was a pretty special thing to be able to give him.

After a moment of trembling limbs, Baekhyun turned his head and gave Yixing a lazy kiss.

“Either you’re lying about never having jerked it or else you’re as quick at learning this as you are at learning dances.”

“Not lying,” Yixing insisted.

Baekhyun giggled into his cheek and pushed himself up to crawl off Yixing.

“Oh.”

Yixing looked down to see the trails of Baekhyun’s come streaked across his stomach and up the front of his shirt.

“Oh,” he echoed.

“Oops.” Baekhyun gave a sheepish grin. “Quick, take it off and I’ll wash it now before it stains.”

Yixing unbuttoned his shirt, gingerly avoiding the sticky spots, and handed it to Baekhyun, who disappeared through the bead curtain into the other room. A minute later there was the sound of running water from the bathroom. Yixing reached over to grab the fuzzy pink tissue box from the bedside table and carefully wiped off his stomach while he waited for Baekhyun to return.

“Okay.” The beads swished back and forth as they settled behind Baekhyun. “I rinsed it off and left it to soak, so it should be alright… but maybe don’t wear that one to the club again, or you might light up white under the blacklights.”

He crossed to the bed and pulled the covers back, nudging Yixing’s hip until he shuffled up the bed and slid underneath them. They lay face-to-face, Baekhyun’s hand resting on the sheets between them until Yixing shyly reached up to take it. Baekhyun smiled, his whole face soft and round and glowing in the shadows of the moonlight.

“Y’alright?”

Yixing nodded. “Comfy.”

“Hmm.” Baekhyun’s eyes fluttered closed, his smile widening, and he squeezed Yixing’s hand for a moment. “Me too.”

He wriggled closer to pull Yixing’s hand down around his waist. They cuddled together, legs tangled and fingers intertwined, Baekhyun’s breath soft against Yixing’s bare chest.

“I-” Yixing pressed his lips into Baekhyun’s hair.

“Hm?” Baekhyun was already half asleep.

Yixing pushed the stray wisps of hair off Baekhyun’s face, kissed his forehead, rested his cheek on the top of his head.

\-- _I don’t want to leave you._

A soft sigh. The edge of a smile against his chest. The grasp of sleepy fingers at his arm.

“I love you too.”


	8. Chapter 8

Yixing hoped Mr. Peterson didn’t pay too much attention to the way he would occasionally, over the following week and a half, come home in clothes that weren’t his. He tried to borrow from among the same few shirts each time, so that perhaps Mr. Peterson would think he’d just gone on an uncharacteristic shopping trip, but it was a difficult pretense to maintain when Baekhyun’s taste in clothing was so much wilder than his own.

Truthfully, though, Mr. Peterson seemed preoccupied these days, and didn’t seem to be noticing much at all. Often when Yixing awoke in the morning and tiptoed down to the kitchen it was to find him already neck-deep in phone calls and paperwork. Mr. Peterson always had an absent smile for him, though, and normally a half-cold pot of tea to offer with breakfast.

The following Saturday, the morning of their second-to-last performance, found Yixing cuddled up on Baekhyun’s couch, Minseok’s head in his lap and wonky little braids spilling out across his knees as his clumsy fingers worked their way through Minseok’s hair. J.D. sat next to Baekhyun on the piano stool, the two of them playing little ditties back and forth, laughing and nudging each other in the ribs as they recognised each song, until J.D. finally started a rhythmic bounce of chords in the bass that Baekhyun seemed to know by instinct as he joined in with a cheerful tune in the treble. They swayed back and forth, pushing into each other’s shoulders with each low note, the pair of them a perfect metronome.

“Key change,” J.D. said, and the song tripped through a discordant mess of sharps and flats before resolving to something higher.

“You gotta tell me what key we’re changing to!” Baekhyun protested.

“D.”

“Well I know that _now_ -”

Syncopated with laughter, the tune became more embellished, trills and flourishes here and there as each tried to out-ridiculous the other. They challenged each other with sudden modulations, often shouting out a new key in the middle of a bar, barely resolving before moving on again, both of them giggling and shoving into each other, notes beating head against head.

“Back to the original key!” J.D. cried.

“What was the original key?”

“I don’t remember!”

They landed on different tonics, fumbling for a second before coming back into line in a highly decorated reprisal of the initial tune which lasted for a good few bars.

“I’m trying to finish it, asshole,” Baekhyun said, when they had repeated the same melody five times.

“Oh, are you? I thought you were just being boring.”

“Shut up- no don’t change the key again!”

J.D. laughed and elbowed him in the side. “I’m just kidding.” With a grand flourish, he brought the bass to a stampeding halt, allowing Baekhyun a high trill before punctuating a final low note to bring the song to its conclusion.

From the bedroom, the sound of applause.

“Good job!” Sehun called.

“What are you two doing in there?” Baekhyun yelled back.

“Snooping through your records!” Lu replied. “You’ve got so much good stuff here, how come you never play it?”

“Cause my player’s broken,” Baekhyun said, turning back to the piano with a sigh. “I gotta make all the music myself.”

“This is fine,” Zhixiang assured him. “You making good music. J.D. not really.”

“ _Why?_ ” J.D. protested. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Never tell me what J.D. stand for,” Zhixiang grinned.

“Hey, a man is allowed some secrets in his life- _don’t you dare, Baekhyun!_ ”

Baekhyun made an indignant noise and prised J.D.’s hand away from his mouth.

“I don’t get why you’re so twisted up about it,” he said. “It’s not like it’s anything bad, it’s only J- _mmf!_ ”

“Just try it,” J.D. threatened.

“Relax, I wasn’t gonna,” Baekhyun mumbled into his hand. “Let go of me.”

J.D. obviously hesitated a fraction of a second too long, because when he leapt away it was with a cry of disgust.

“That’s what you get,” Baekhyun said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Gross.” J.D. grabbed the fabric of Baekhyun’s sleeve to rub the spit off his hand.

“Careful Baek,” Zhixiang said, “you don’t know where his hand been.”

“I have a fair idea,” Baekhyun muttered, standing up and shuffling through the sheets of music on top of the piano. “What else have I got up here…”

He pulled a sheet out of the precarious stack, and two of the photo frames balanced beside it toppled over with a clatter. As Baekhyun set them upright again, Yixing realised that the one on the left was not a picture but a piece of embroidery - and he could read it.

“Ah-” he slid out from under Minseok, scuttled across to the piano and reached over Baekhyun’s shoulder to grab the frame. “What is it?”

“Oh yeah, speaking of names,” Baekhyun leaned back against Yixing’s chest, Yixing’s arms around his shoulders so they could both look at the embroidery, “this is mine. Someone gave it to my mom when I was born. It’s my name in like. Traditional Korean characters.” He pointed to each character. “Baek. Hyun.”

“Baek, Hyun?” Yixing echoed him, then pointed at the characters again. “Bo. Xian.”

“Wait, wait.” Baekhyun sat up and took the frame from Yixing as if to examine it more closely. “Is that how you say it in Chinese?”

Yixing nodded.

“Wow,” Baekhyun breathed. “That’s so cool. I never thought about that, the same characters in different languages.”

Yixing pulled his notebook out of his pocket and flipped to the page where he’d written his name. “How do you read this in Korean?”

“Geez Louise, I don’t know. Ask J.D. - your grandma speaks Korean, right?”

“Yeah, a couple sentences,” J.D. snorted, “conversation stuff. Not reading characters. I didn’t even know Korean _had_ characters like Chinese.”

“You learn something new every day.” Baekhyun set the embroidery carefully back in its place on top of the piano. “How was it you pronounced it?”

“Bo Xian,” Yixing repeated. “Means wise man.”

At that J.D. fell off the piano stool and collapsed to the floor in hysterical laughter.

“Wise man? _Wise man?_ Dear Jesus in Heaven, that’s the worst misnomer in recorded human history!”

“Hey!” Baekhyun sniffed, indignant. “I’ll have you know I’m a very educated fellow.”

“Last week you forgot how to spell _research_ ,” Zhixiang pointed out. “Even I’m not that dumb.”

“Well duh, you’re a _lawyer_.”

“Irrelevant! English is your first language, you stupid!”

“What are we laughing about?” Sehun asked, striding through the bead curtain with Lu on his heels.

“Wise man,” J.D. wheezed, pointing at Baekhyun.

“Who?” Sehun frowned.

“Me!” Baekhyun insisted, smacking an emphatic hand against his chest.

Lu raised an eyebrow. “Says who?”

“Says Chinese,” Minseok put in from the couch, where he was still lying in his halo of lopsided braids, one careful fingernail picking at the edge of his cast.

“Chinese doesn’t know our Baek,” Lu said.

“Rewrite ancient dictionary,” Zhixiang agreed. “Baekkie, you ever see me laughing at you and you’re not sure why? This gonna be why.”

“Sit on it, Zhixiang.”

Zhixiang gave a snorting, honking laugh, doubling over to smack his hands against his knees.

\-- _Wise man,_ he chortled. -- _Why did I never realise before? I could have been teasing you for years!_

“I don’t know what he’s saying,” Baekhyun said, “but I’m sure it’s rude.”

“Not rude,” Yixing shook his head, hands soothing on Baekhyun’s shoulders. “Just silly.”

“Ain’t he always.”

-

Closing night brought mixed emotions. Their dance was the most euphoric Yixing had ever felt, that electric connection between him and Baekhyun crackling across the stage in the space between their _brisés_ and strings of Baryshnikovs. Dancing with someone who knew him this well, taking that bone-deep sense of trust and using it to propel each other higher - it was the most intense performance Yixing had ever given. Nothing could compare to this.

During the curtain call, though, the fact of it became inescapable: this was their last show together.

As Mr. Peterson stepped out of the wings, microphone in hand, Yixing felt the finality of the evening as a weight on his shoulders. Acknowledgements to the audience, to the orchestra, to the patrons of the show - each one was an ending.

“I want to take a moment and say a special thank you to one of our dancers,” Mr. Peterson said, extending a hand towards them. “Zhang Yixing.”

_That’s me._ For a moment Yixing wasn’t sure what was happening, and it took a nudge from Baekhyun to remind him to step forward.

“Zhang is a summer student from the Beijing Dance Academy,” Mr. Peterson continued. “We’ve been very lucky to have him with us this summer, and even luckier that he was able to step in at the last minute and take over this role.” He turned to Yixing, smiling that kind, fatherly smile with which he blessed his most favourite dancers. “Zhang, thank you for all your hard work this summer. It has been a joy to have you as a student, and we wish you all the best for the future.”

Amidst applause from the cast and audience, Yixing took a bow. When he glanced over his shoulder, Baekhyun was smiling at him, but it was all lips and no corners.

_I don’t want the future_ , Yixing thought. _I want this, I want right now to last forever_. Ballet had never felt so real, so joyful, as when he was dancing alongside Baekhyun. What if it never did again?

It was that sense of despair that brought him to the far side of town the next afternoon, after a long day of practising not with Baekhyun, but with the red-headed flower girl with whom he would be performing in their end-of-term show. Though she was undoubtedly talented and a dedicated ballerina, it was jarring to dance with someone who couldn’t take the slightest shift of his weight and predict it across the floor to the farthest conclusion of a _jeté_.

There was no answer when he knocked on the door, but it was almost six o’clock, so he crouched on the doorstep to wait. He watched the cars pass, trundling along the street below in a purr of engines and snatches of songs through their open windows, until finally a rusty orange convertible pulled into one of the crookedly-marked bays in the building’s front courtyard.

When Zhixiang looked up and caught sight of Yixing squatting on his doorstep, he grinned and waved over the windshield.

“Hello, friend!” he called. “I’m there in one minute!”

Yixing nodded and stood, wiping his nervous palms on his pants while Zhixiang collected his groceries from the passenger seat, two paper bags in each arm and his briefcase dangling from his fingers, and clattered up the metal stairs to meet him.

“You waiting long?” he asked, juggling the shopping bags around to fish his keys back out of his pocket and unlock the door.

“Not long,” Yixing said. “I sit in the sun. It’s nice.”

“It’s a lovely evening,” Zhixiang agreed. He kicked the door closed behind them and crossed the room to set his groceries down on the kitchenette counter. “What brings you here to see me?”

\-- _How much do you know about immigration law?_

Zhixiang turned to lean against the counter and look at him, thumbs hooked into his waistcoat pockets.

\-- _A reasonable amount. Why?_

Yixing bit his lip.

\-- _I don’t want to go back to China._

It felt like a betrayal to admit it, especially to Zhixiang, who, he had to keep reminding himself these days, should have been his enemy.

\-- _Ah. And you want to know what your options are to stay in America?_

Yixing nodded.

\-- _Hm._ Zhixiang scratched one thumbnail against his chin, and in lieu of an immediate answer turned around and began unpacking his groceries.

\-- _Is it possible?_ Yixing pressed.

\-- _Oh, it’s possible. Do you want a drink?_ He set two cans down on the counter and nodded to them.

\-- _What is it?_

\-- _Sprite. Fizzes like Cola, but doesn’t taste like death._

Yixing picked up one of the cans and carefully snapped it open. He sniffed at the sparkle of bubbles that sprang out at him, then took one cautious sip.

\-- _Wow._

Zhixiang was right. It had all the heady fizz of Cola, but none of the mouth-twisting sourness.

\-- _It’s good, right?_ Zhixiang slotted the milk into the fridge and picked up his own can. -- _Let’s sit._

When they were settled at the table, Zhixiang clasped his hands together and rested his chin on them to stare at Yixing.

\-- _For you, I think you have three options._ He unclasped his hands and held up three fingers. -- _One. You can marry an American woman._

Yixing pulled a face. He barely even knew any girls here, and with every day he spent with Baekhyun the prospect of having to devote his attention to a wife instead looked less and less appealing.

\-- _That one won’t work,_ Zhixiang said with a shake of his head. -- _Option two, you can have an employer sponsor you to stay._

\-- _What does that mean?_

\-- _Well, a case could be made for you being an exceptionally talented dancer, and therefore an asset to American entertainment. If a dance company - the Seattle Ballet, for instance - were willing to offer you a permanent position-_

\-- _No._ Yixing shook his head. -- _I can’t ask Mr. Peterson for that._ He had already been so kind, bringing Yixing here and providing him with a home for the summer; it would be the rudest possible imposition to demand more.

\-- _Well, then,_ Zhixiang spread his hands, -- _the only other option that I can think of would be to defect._

\-- _Defect?_

\-- _Refuse to return to China. Ask for political asylum in America._

\-- _But-_ Yixing’s heart squeezed cold inside his chest, -- _my family-_

\-- _You would not get to see them again for a long time,_ Zhixiang said. -- _Perhaps never. If you look at defectors from the Soviet Union - Nureyev, Baryshnikov, Makarova - they don’t get to go home. I think it would be the same in China. If you leave, you can’t go back._

\-- _But I-_ Yixing shook his head. -- _What would they do to my family, if I defected?_

Zhixiang hesitated just a breath too long.

\-- _I don’t know._

Yixing closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, struggling for a loophole, for some way he could make this work.

\-- _But I can’t. I can’t go back. I can’t stay the rest of my life there, there’s no- I feel so-_

\-- _Trapped._

\-- _Yes._

Zhixiang’s hand was cool from his soda can when it came to rest on Yixing’s wrist.

\-- _Yixing, my friend. It’s not an easy decision, and not one you need to make today._

There must be some other way. What if he got a job with another dance company? No, that would be as bad as defecting. Staying with the Seattle Ballet would be one thing, but searching out another company just so that he could remain in the States… there would be no way to pass that off as anything less than defection.

He could bring his family here somehow, get them to America where they would be safe and then all defect together- No. Impossible. He couldn’t even imagine how he would go about doing that. Getting them out of China was out of the question; if he wanted to see them again it would have to be there, not here. If he wanted to defect, then he would have to take responsibility for whatever happened to them as a result.

There was no way around it - his options were fixed. Yixing opened his eyes.

\-- _If I decide to do it…_

\-- _Then I can direct you to another lawyer who can help. I think if I were the one to assist you… that might be a bad idea._ Zhixiang’s grin was a mix of sheepishness and self-deprecation.

\-- _Oh. Yes, of course._

\-- _An American-Chinese political incident would be bad enough. Throw Taiwan into the mix and I think we could start a war._

They laughed, but it tasted cold in Yixing’s mouth. After a few seconds, the smile fell away from Zhixiang’s eyes.

\-- _I don’t know if I’ll do it,_ Yixing said.

\-- _That’s okay. You can take your time. If you want to talk through it some more, just let me know._

\-- _Thank you,_ Yixing murmured, bowing his head towards the table. -- _I’m so grateful for your help._

Zhixiang squeezed his wrist, then leaned forward to give him a solid, reassuring pat on the shoulder.

\-- _Anything for you, comrade._

-

The Seattle Ballet’s auditorium. Larger than a studio, smaller than a theatre, with makeshift wings and no barrier to speak of between audience and dancers, it wasn't the sort of venue in which one would stage _Don Quixote_ \- but it was perfect for twenty summer students, their friends and families, and an end-of-term performance.

Yixing’s dance with his red-headed flower girl went perfectly. He caught her _fouetté_ , matched her _jetés_ , and when they came together at the end for their final spin it was smooth and easy. Even the emotion of the piece seemed right - Yixing just imagined she was Baekhyun, and suddenly falling in love with her was the simplest thing in the world.

When the two of them turned to take their bow, Yixing looked to the front row and sure enough, there they were: Zhixiang shouting congratulations, Minseok clapping his good hand against one of Lu’s, Sehun and J.D. whistling and screaming, and Baekhyun applauding so hard, so fast, that Yixing wasn’t sure which was more in danger of breaking - his hands, or the beaming smile split into his cheeks.

It was the smallest performance he had ever given; somehow, it was also the most rewarding.

Afterwards, when he was wiping his makeup off in one of the tiny dressing rooms behind the auditorium, the door burst open and the whole crew came tumbling through, J.D. leading the charge at a gallop.

“Zhang! That was incredible!”

“Awesome,” Lu agreed. “Absolutely fab.”

“My brother!” Sehun cried, throwing open his arms to envelop Yixing in a lanky hug.

“Friend!” Zhixiang crowed. “I dunno how you jump so high, like _woah_ -” his arms spread high and low, his mouth trying for something equally as wide. 

Baekhyun just grasped Yixing’s shoulder, and his smile was words enough.

“I gotta say, Zhang,” Minseok said, “it’s a huge bummer we won’t get to see you dance anymore, cause I could honestly watch you all day.”

Yixing opened his mouth, maybe intending to deflect all their praise, or thank them for coming, but his voice stuck halfway up his throat before he could even find the words.

They were happy for him, he realised - genuinely, unselfishly happy for him - and it suddenly became clear to him just how rare that sort of friendship was. Even the boys at the Academy, with whom he had trained for ten years, were not that close. They might like each other well enough, they might spend all their days and nights together, but there was still that undercurrent of competition between them, the pride in their joint achievements mixed with jealousy whenever someone received any special recognition that put them above the rest. There were too many of them, and too few roles, and too brutal a judgement from the teachers as to who was the most deserving.

But here, there was none of that. These men all cared about him and wanted him to do well. Even Minseok, who by rights should have resented Yixing for taking his role in the last show, was all smiles and encouragement. And there was a certain sadness in that, Yixing thought, because he could not expect this kind of camaraderie back home.

In fact - Yixing’s heart pressed flat against his spine with the realisation - the last time he had known that kind of selfless friendship had been before he had moved to Beijing. He had been going through the motions of brotherhood with his classmates at the Academy, holding on to the prospect of returning to the village and the real friends that awaited him there, but suddenly it hit him that the last time he’d seen them had been ten years ago. The very best friends of his childhood were half a lifetime away now, all three of them grown men, and while they might yet meet again - and might even fall back into the easy familiarity of their boyhood - their friendship was not what awaited him upon his return to China. Back to the Academy, and eventually on to the Beijing Ballet, where Yixing had no doubt it would be more of the same.

It suddenly seemed like a very lonely life.

Yixing stared at Minseok, processing this epiphany. When he returned to China - and it was looking more and more certain that he would, because the more he thought about it the more the idea of defecting set a sickening weight in his stomach - he would be leaving behind friendships like he hadn’t known since the days when he had chased Yifan and Zitao through the streets of their tiny village near Changsha. If he let it slip away now, it was the kind of friendship he might never have again.

As Minseok smiled at him, round cheeks dimpled with pride, Yixing swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat.

_I don’t want to be alone._

Maybe he didn’t have the courage to stay here with them, but he did have the courage to leave them his heart.

“You can-” He cleared the catch from his throat. “Please call me Yixing.”

It felt right, the most natural thing even as he said it. He had already given this to Baekhyun, and Zhixiang had somehow strolled right through all his walls and assumed it with that easy familiarity of his; the others were no less deserving. These were the kind of friends who would hug him and hold his hands, who would take him not only into their homes but also to their most treasured of nightlife hiding places. The kind of friends who would protect him in a fight, and who danced with him like it was something to share rather than compete for.

Minseok tilted his head slightly, sweet and uncomprehending. Over his shoulder, the corners of Baekhyun’s smile softened into surprise.

“In China,” Yixing explained, “names are very- hm.” He tried to remember how he’d explained it to Baekhyun. “First name is family. Everybody says that. Comrade Zhang, Classmate Zhang, Student Zhang. Second name is just me. Only good friends says that. You’re all-” he looked up, found eye contact with each of them in turn: Sehun with his infectious grin, J.D. mothering and protective, Minseok’s endless patience and sweetness, Lu fiery and easy-going in equal measure. Behind them stood Zhixiang, whose eyes were a constant light of mischief, and Baekhyun. Baekhyun, to whom he had already given his whole heart and more, whom in another lifetime he would have followed to the ends of the earth.

“You’re all the best.”


	9. Chapter 9

Yixing stared at the stack of laundry sitting neatly pressed and folded on the desk chair. Normally it would be the logical next step to pick it up and sort it into the bureau drawers. But now… but now.

He had one week left in America. One week left at the Seattle Ballet, all the summer classes over and the days his to practise as he wished. One week left in Mr. Peterson’s beautiful house, sleeping in that giant bed and waking up to morning cups of English tea.

One more week to spend sitting in the late summer sun on Sehun and J.D.’s couch, drinking Sprite and weaving intricate braids through Minseok’s long, glossy hair as Lu and Zhixiang debated the relative merits of Luke Skywalker and Han Solo as pertained to Leia’s heart.

One more week with Baekhyun, every available minute given to that furtive intimacy of nightclubs and practice rooms, stolen kisses in darkened movie theatres and hands secretively held under diner tables. One more week of frantic, desperate love-making, where they held each other closer than skin and pretended their relationship didn’t have a departure date.

Because it did, much as they might wish otherwise. In seven days Yixing would be on a plane back to the beautiful blue skies of Beijing and the lonely halls of the Academy, and Seattle would become a memory.

Part of him was still aching to stay, to throw away his passport and refuse to return to China, but it was a whisper now rather than a scream, quietened by thoughts of his family. Not because he missed them - though after ten years he still did - but because he knew if he defected then he would likely never know their fate. He couldn’t live with the knowledge that they might face punishment for his selfishness.

So he would enjoy these last seven days with Baekhyun, and if they never met again then at least he would have this perfect memory to carry with him the rest of his life.

“Imagine if I could come with you,” Baekhyun had said, soft and wistful one afternoon.

“Impossible,” Yixing had replied, and gestured at the sweat drying between their bodies. “This, it’s not okay in China.”

“It’s not okay here either,” Baekhyun had pointed out. “That doesn’t make it wrong.”

Now Yixing sighed and pushed himself up off the bed. There was no point prolonging the inevitable. He dragged his suitcase out of the closet, laid it open on the bed, and began to sort the pile of clean laundry into it.

He had almost figured out which shirts he was going to leave behind when the door clicked open behind him.

“Zhang, you’re packing already?”

“Hi- yes.” Yixing turned around. “Lots of clothes to sort. Can’t take this all - have to choose.”

“Yes, yes, right.” Mr. Peterson pushed the door closed behind him and took a cautious step towards the bed. “Zhang, I wondered if you might have a minute - I’ve something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Yixing nodded and, at Mr. Peterson’s gesture, perched on the edge of the bed. Mr. Peterson shifted a pair of Yixing’s socks off the desk chair and settled himself there, then turned to fix him with a look that seemed far too serious for Yixing’s liking.

“Have you enjoyed your summer here in America?”

Yixing nodded, polite at first and then emphatic. “Yes. Very much.”

“Good, good.” Mr. Peterson folded his hands around his knee, his legs crossed and toes tapping above the carpet. “Well. I have to tell you, I’ve actually been on the phone to Beijing for the last few weeks.”

Yixing’s blood dropped in a cold weight.

He’d been caught. Mr. Peterson had seen him dancing too closely with Baekhyun in the practice rooms, or glanced out the window late at night and caught them kissing goodnight in the car. He’d figured out that the clothes Yixing came home in on Saturday mornings belonged to Baekhyun. He’d simply observed Yixing going out too many times and put two and two together.

And now he’d told the government. The whole Communist Party would know that Yixing had been engaging in marital acts with another man - and an American at that.

Perhaps he should feel betrayed, he thought, as all the blood in his body did an abrupt turn and rushed back to his face, but instead he felt only shame. He had brought this upon himself. Who knew what punishment awaited him in China now?

It made him sick to imagine the grief, the awful humiliation his parents would have to endure when they found out.

“It’s taken a bit of back and forth,” Mr. Peterson continued, as if Yixing were not breaking down inside right in front of him, “but we’ve concluded that you dancing here really reflects rather well on everybody concerned.”

And he’d gone and ruined that. He’d destroyed the precious relationships Mr. Peterson had worked so hard to build, not only with the Academy but with the Chinese government as well. Yixing couldn’t breathe.

“The Consulate sees you as something of an ambassador for Chinese ballet, and of course we’ve loved having you with us, so it’s really very positive all around.”

_Positive._ Mr. Peterson was smiling. He didn’t look like he was about to send Yixing off to the fate that presumably befell the perpetrators of such deviant behaviours.

“The long and short of it is, the Chinese government have agreed to extend your visa.”

Yixing blinked at him. Extend his visa? Visa - the thing he had in his passport that allowed him to stay in the United States, which was stamped with an expiry date of approximately three weeks hence. Extend?

_Extend the leg_ en avant _, extend the line of the neck through the chin, extend that arm towards her-_

Make it longer?

“I wish I could have told you sooner, but I didn’t want to mention it until I could actually make the offer,” Mr. Peterson said.

“I… don’t understand,” Yixing admitted.

Mr. Peterson treated him to one of those fatherly smiles, the ones that felt like a blessing every time they turned in Yixing’s direction.

“What I’m saying is, there’s a position here at the Seattle Ballet for you if you want it.”

Oh. _Oh._ Yixing swallowed hard and took a second to revive his heart. They hadn’t been found out after all - Mr. Peterson knew nothing. 

“But,” that worry remained, the fear of retaliation for the choices he made in selfishness, “my family-”

“Oh yes,” Mr. Peterson frowned, “yes, you must be quite eager to see them. Well, we’ll have to see what we can do. I’m sure we can arrange a visit. Perhaps for the spring season… I’ll talk to the Consulate.”

He stood and opened the door, social choreography visibly composing in his head, then stopped and turned back.

“So you’ll stay, then?”

“I-” Yixing nodded so hard his hair flopped into his eyes. “Yes. Yes, I stay. Thank you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Mr. Peterson assured him. “Well. I imagine we’ve a fair bit to organise in the next little while - paperwork and such, you’ll need a bank account, and I can help you find an apartment of your own - but I won’t overwhelm you with all that now. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you.” Yixing stood. His heart, having successfully restarted, was now thrumming into a crescendo of possibility. “I think I’m… I go for a walk.”

“Of course.” Mr. Peterson grinned, and there was the shadow of a wink at the corner of his eye as he said, “Go tell him the news.”

-

Yixing’s walk turned into a run, a mad dash for the bus and then, at the other end, a world-record sprint from the terminus stop to the semi-urban apartment blocks overlooking the water.

“Baekhyun!” The door rattled under the pound of his fist, creaking in protest of so much urgency. “Baek!”

There was a shout from the other side, and then the door swung open.

“What, what is it? ’Xing?” Baekhyun looked bewildered, almost frightened. “Are you okay? What’s happened?”

All the words were bubbling up at once, and Yixing couldn’t choose between them so he just threw himself forward, kicked the door shut behind him and dragged Baekhyun into his arms with a scream of joy.

“Yixing, baby!” Baekhyun’s hands were confused between Yixing’s shoulder blades, his neck craning to try and get a look at Yixing’s face. “What’s going on? Are you alright?”

Yixing nodded, face pressed into Baekhyun’s collarbone, his smile beginning to split at the edges as he clutched tight to all that safety and familiarity and love, so much love, love that he could keep, that he didn’t have to leave behind, a love where he could stay-

“I stay,” he gasped, fingers clenching into Baekhyun’s hair and the back of his shirt. “I’m- I’m staying, I’m not leaving- I won’t go, I stay here-”

“What? Wait, what, _what_ , I don’t understand-” Baekhyun was pulling back, trying to look at Yixing’s face, probably trying to gauge whether he was laughing or crying - and now he was both, eyes beginning to sting with elation as he clasped Baekhyun’s face between his hands.

“Mr. Peterson says- he said I stay, I’m dance with Seattle Ballet, stay here in America-”

Baekhyun’s jaw dropped.

“I stay!” Yixing repeated, dizzy, delirious with it. “I stay here, Seattle, dance with you, stay _with you-_ ”

And then suddenly he was flying, whirled off his feet as Baekhyun’s arms wrapped around his waist, and they were spinning together, whooping and laughing, and Yixing hadn’t thought a quintuple _tour en l’air_ was possible but he was certain his heart was doing a string of them inside his chest.

“I can’t believe it,” Baekhyun said, voice muffled into Yixing’s neck. “Really, are you sure?”

“Sure,” Yixing nodded. “Chinese government extend my visa.”

A wet giggle into his skin. “One of the best decisions they’ve ever made.”

“Best _ever_ ,” Yixing said.

“Not the best ever.” Baekhyun looked up, cheeks flushed, eyes alight with the corners of his grin. “The best decision ever was sending you here in the first place.”

Yixing laughed. “Yes. Definitely the best.”

Baekhyun’s face was positively glowing, ecstatic and magnetic, so Yixing kissed him, and kissed him again, and kept kissing him until the next wave of euphoria bubbled up and they were giggling into each other’s mouths.

“I’m in shock,” Baekhyun said. “I can’t believe it, I- are you sure I’m not dreaming? Pinch me.”

“Pinch-?”

Baekhyun tapped his thumb and forefinger together like a crab. Confused, Yixing copied him, and when Baekhyun held his arm out Yixing decided he was probably supposed to nip it with that claw.

“ _Ow_.”

“What is the point of that?” Yixing wondered.

“To make sure I’m really awake and not having some sort of hallucination where all my dreams come true.” Baekhyun sat down on the couch and pulled Yixing into his lap. “Oh, I’m so-” he snuggled his face into Yixing’s chest, arms tight around his waist, his entire body practically vibrating with delight.

“Happy,” Yixing murmured.

“Happy,” Baekhyun agreed. He lifted his head to smile up at Yixing, hands soft on his back, hair a joyful mess. “How long are you staying, do you know? Is it six months, two years, forever?”

“Hmm.” Yixing thought for a moment. “Don’t know. I think maybe a long time. Mr. Peterson said I need a bank account. And he said he can help me find an apartment of my own.”

Baekhyun laughed. “What did you say to that?”

Yixing tilted his head. “Nothing. Why?”

“Well, you’re not going to need your own place, are you?”

“I’m not?”

“No - I want you here, with me.”

“Oh.” That sent a whole new series of flips through Yixing’s chest. “Really?”

“Of course, of course I do.” Baekhyun reached up and cupped his hand around Yixing’s cheek. “I mean… if you want to.”

For a moment Yixing held that picture in his imagination: waking up next to Baekhyun every day, falling asleep wrapped around him each night, spending free afternoons in his sunny bedroom with the breeze rattling the bead curtain - sharing breakfast, sharing baths, sharing the drive to the studio while Baekhyun sang along to the songs floating in from other people’s cars.

Yixing decided he liked that image.

“I want to,” he said. “I want it, I want you.”

Baekhyun’s smile was all teeth and corners, almost too wide to kiss, but Yixing managed it. He would never get used to this, he thought, the sweetness of Baekhyun’s lips, the way the breath snapped into his mouth when Yixing’s hands slid back through his hair.

They could do this as much as they wanted, now. No deadlines, no curfews, no stolen kisses in nightclub bathrooms or furtive hugs in the shadows of streetlamps. Coming home to the safety of this apartment, with no prying eyes, no hatred or judgment or metal pipes - they could have each other as much as they wanted within these four walls.

Baekhyun giggled as Yixing’s fingers began tugging at his top button.

“Really? Now?”

“I like doing it,” Yixing insisted, lips against Baekhyun’s temple as he slipped one hand inside his shirt and danced his fingers in circles across that smooth skin.

“Well I like doing it too,” Baekhyun laughed, “but you’re a special level of insatiable.”

“I don’t know ‘insatiable,’” Yixing said, tugging Baekhyun’s shirt out of his pants.

“It means you can’t be satisfied.” Baekhyun’s grip shifted to Yixing’s thighs and squeezed for a moment, then rolled them sideways so that Yixing was sitting on the couch and Baekhyun could climb into his lap.

“Not true.” Yixing broke away to suck a kiss into Baekhyun’s collarbone. “Always satisfied from you.”

“I’m flattered.” Baekhyun lifted Yixing’s chin with one finger, seemingly just to grin at him.

“What?” Yixing blinked at him.

Baekhyun shook his head. “Nothing. I’m glad you’re staying.” He ducked forward, brushed his nose against Yixing’s for a moment, then pressed closer and kissed all the air out of his lungs as his hands began working at the buckle of Yixing’s pants.

Afterwards, when Yixing had Baekhyun cradled in his arms in a glow of sweat and recovered breath, Baekhyun sighed and pressed a sleepy kiss to Yixing’s chest just where his heart was tapping out a joyful rhythm against his ribs.

“I love you,” he whispered, lips lazy against Yixing’s skin.

Yixing hummed in agreement, tightening his arms in a framework of security around Baekhyun’s body.

“I love you so much,” Baekhyun continued. His words were so soft as to be almost lost in the thrum of the afternoon, but Yixing would always be able to pick Baekhyun’s voice from any crowd.

“Love you too,” Yixing murmured, with a kiss to the top of Baekhyun’s head. There were words for this feeling, he was sure there were. “Love… too big for one heart.”

“Mmm.” There were the corners of that smile against his chest, softened and rounded with exhaustion. “Good thing I’ve got a whole lot of different hearts.”

Yixing laughed. “Enough hearts for this love.”

Baekhyun shook his head, eyes closed, breath soft. “I think I love you more than the whole universe of hearts. The most love there’s ever been.” He reached up, unlatched Yixing’s hand from his back and brought it down to lace their fingers together, one thumb stroking circles across the back of Yixing’s knuckles. “I could not love you more.”


	10. Chapter 10

“- And I’ve spent so much on textbooks, I don’t know how I’m going to eat.”

“As if you ever pay for groceries anyway,” J.D. muttered. “All your money goes to takeout and alcohol.”

“I’m a poor student, I have to enjoy life _somehow_.”

“You know,” Lu observed, “if you’d actually had a job this summer you could be enjoying life so much more.”

“But I have to take my freedom while it lasts!” Sehun protested. “We have to do co-ops this year, I won’t have any free time!”

Minseok snorted. “That’s objectively not true, but anyway.”

“Where are you applying for co-op placements?” Baekhyun asked, looking over his shoulder where he was slotting Yixing’s dictionary and English study guides into place on the bookshelf.

Sehun sighed and flopped dramatically sideways onto Minseok’s lap. “I don’t know. Everyone else already seems to have theirs sorted, and I don’t have a damn clue where I’m going to end up.”

“You gotta be proactive, friend,” Zhixiang said, snapping his fingers. “When you’re a lawyer things happens _fast_ , gotta know what you’re doing, can’t wait for life or it’ll bite you in the bum.”

Sehun groaned and closed his eyes. A moment later he was sitting upright, staring at Zhixiang as if only now seeing him clearly.

“Zhixiang.”

“Yah, buddy?”

“You’re a lawyer.”

“I am.”

“You work… for a law place.”

Zhixiang smirked. “Yes I do.”

“Get me a co-op placement where you work.”

Yixing, sitting next to Zhixiang, burst out laughing. He hadn’t yet worked out what _co-op_ meant, but whatever it was, it was clearly a lot to demand of Zhixiang in that tone of voice.

Zhixiang clearly thought so too. “Oh wow okay, so easy. Let me just do that. Hey, Sehunnie, how many languages you speaking?”

“Huh?”

“Languages.” Zhixiang held up his hands and counted off on his fingers. “Community law centre offers services in Mandarin, Cantonese, Japanese, Korean, Thai, Hmong, Khmer, Vietnamese, Filipino and Malay. Which of those you speak?”

Sehun’s face fell. “Uh. None of them.”

“Hm.” Zhixiang raised his eyebrows. “Well I guess you don’t got a job with us then.”

Sehun sighed and nodded, the slump of his shoulders pure dejection.

Zhixiang laughed. “I’m just kidding. We also got services in French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, Hindi, Arabic and English, and I know you speak a couple of those!”

“I haven’t spoken Spanish since high school,” Sehun pointed out.

“Time you gonna brush it up then,” Zhixiang said. “I’ll talk to boss lady on Monday, see what we can do. No promises, kiddo, wipe that smile off ya face.”

“Thanks, Zhixiang,” Sehun said, trying and failing not to grin from ear to ear. “You’re the best.”

“Speaking of jobs,” J.D. said, raising his bottle of beer, “Yixing. What’s it like to be working for the Seattle Ballet?”

“I love it.” Yixing nodded for emphasis. “Mr. Peterson, he’s a very good boss.”

“Y’know,” Minseok observed, “you should really start calling him Thomas at some point.”

Yixing’s mouth tugged down in horror. “No, no-”

“Yeah,” Baekhyun agreed from the bookshelf, which he seemed to have gotten sidetracked alphabetising by author. “You’re kind of the only person in the whole company who actually calls him Mr. Peterson.”

Yixing struggled with that for a moment.

“Th-” he winced, shook his head, reconsidered. “Mr. Thomas?”

The whole room burst into laughter. Baekhyun doubled over and smacked his forehead against the edge of _The Concise Oxford Dictionary of Current English_ , his yelp of pain quickly strangled by giggles.

“Yes!” Minseok yelled over Sehun’s raucous squawks of glee, “Yes, Yixing, call him that, that’s adorable!”

“I bet that’s what they called him back in Ye Olde England,” Baekhyun chortled. “ _Mistah Thomas_.”

“I don’t understand,” Yixing blinked. “What did I do?”

“You just set the standard for addressing our esteemed director, that’s what,” Minseok said. “Holy hell. Mr. Thomas. Why is that so funny?”

“It’s the accent,” Zhixiang said. “Everything’s funnier in our accent.”

“We don’t have same accent,” Yixing objected.

“You don’t?” Lu said, frowning slightly.

“No!” Yixing insisted. “Very different! I’m from Changsha, ehh,” he waggled his hand, “speak kind of Beijing accent now. He’s from _Taipei_.”

“You say it like it’s something dirty,” J.D. said.

“Taiwan, _bleh_.”

“Hey!” Zhixiang shoved him sideways on the couch. “Disrespect my home like that!”

“He’s worried you’re gonna make him forget about Chairman Mao,” Lu grinned.

“Impossible.” Yixing shook his head. “I love Chairman Mao.”

“Glad to hear it,” J.D. smiled. “I thought living in America might have changed that.”

Yixing shook his head. “America haven’t changed me- no- hasn’t? Hasn’t changed me.”

“Yes it has!” Sehun blurted out.

Yixing blinked at the incredulity on his face. “Has it?”

“ _Yes_ , are you kidding?” J.D.’s eyebrows seemed in danger of detaching from his face and running off to join his hairline. “Yixing. What are you drinking?”

Yixing looked down at the bottle of Sprite in his hand.

“Okay, so I drink new drink-”

“And wear trendier clothes, and listen to different music, and go to gay bars,” Lu listed off on his fingers, “and talk about things other than the weather and ballet, and say stuff like ‘wow, amazing,’ and make fun of Zhixiang-”

“Honey,” Baekhyun cut in, leaning over the back of the couch to tilt Yixing’s chin up and plant an upside-down kiss on his lips. As he made to straighten up, Yixing cupped a hand around the back of his head and pulled him back in for one more quick peck.

“I rest my case,” Baekhyun said, pushing Yixing forward and going back to the bookcase.

As Sehun crowed with glee, Minseok offered Yixing a grin.

“I’m willing to bet you were not this comfortable with kissing guys in China.”

Baekhyun snorted. “No, he was _not_. Did I ever tell you about our first kiss? Hoo boy. I thought he was gonna cry.”

“Ah-” Yixing cringed, “Baekkie, baby, no-”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Baekhyun winked at him and slid _Footprints Under The Window_ off the shelf to sort it in beside _While The Clock Ticked_. “You have changed, though. You’re much less scared of yourself now.”

Yixing considered that with the next sip of his Sprite. If he really thought about it, they were right; he was different now. The person who had scrambled away from Baekhyun, who had grovelled and begged for forgiveness on the floor of the practice room - he didn’t live here anymore. It had been gradual, almost like the passage of the moon from dark to light, but day by day that man had disappeared, leaving behind this newer, freer version of himself.

“Ooh,” Lu checked his watch and tapped Minseok on the shoulder. “We gotta head off, that chicken’s been sitting out of the freezer for way too long.”

“Oh, true.” Minseok climbed to his feet and glanced down at Sehun. “You two want a lift?”

“Yes, please.” Sehun stretched his string bean legs and set his drink down on the end table.

“I’m going with Zhixiang,” J.D. said, “I’ll see you at home later, Sehun.”

“Alrighty, looks like we all heading out.” Zhixiang hugged Yixing to his side for a moment, then stood up and leaned over the back of the couch to slap Baekhyun on the shoulder. “You two have a good evening! Have fun, be good, listen to some nice music! Dinner at my place tomorrow, okay?”

“Okey dokey.” Baekhyun flashed him a thumbs up. “Thanks for coming over, you guys.”

“Hey, we gotta welcome Yixing to the neighbourhood, right?” Zhixiang grinned. “Finally moved out of the boss man’s house, he’s a big boy now.” He ruffled Yixing’s hair on his way back around the couch towards the front door. “See you tomorrow! C’mon, you dorks, let’s go. Catch you on the flip sides!” -- _See you later, Yixing._

\-- _See you later!_

Zhixiang chivvied the others out the front door and slammed it behind them. Their chatter lingered through the open windows as they clattered down the stairs, fading into the noise of the building and the distant rumble of traffic.

“Whew!” Baekhyun flopped backwards onto the couch, legs dangling over the back and head hanging upside-down by Yixing’s knee. “It’s been a day, huh?”

“Yeah.” Yixing glanced over at the empty box by the shelf, at his precious few books now sorted in amongst Baekhyun’s. It felt like so much more than just this morning that he had carried that box out of Mr. Peterson’s house. Their hug goodbye at the front door had felt so much more meaningful than was reasonable - he would be seeing Mr. Peterson on Monday morning at the Seattle Ballet, but somehow it had felt like a more momentous farewell than that.

A farewell to the summer, he decided, a farewell to his time as a momentary guest in this country. Farewell to Summer Student Zhang and hello to Yixing, Seattle Ballet soloist and holder of a precious new work permit stamped in red ink into his passport, which was now safely stowed in the bedside table with Baekhyun’s American and Canadian passports.

“Hey.” Baekhyun wiggled his leg along the back of the couch to nudge the side of Yixing’s head.

“Hey.” Reaching up, Yixing grabbed that leg and pulled it down into his lap. As he stroked a finger down the length of Baekhyun’s shin, over his ankle and across the silky skin of his foot, Baekhyun twisted around so that he was lying on the couch rather than dangling off the edge of it, his other leg still hooked over the back and his thighs on gorgeous display beneath the bunched-up cuffs of his shorts.

“Just got a little more unpacking to do,” Baekhyun pointed out, wriggling his toes as Yixing’s finger traced along underneath them, bumping from one hardened, calloused pad to the next.

“Mhm.” His clothes, in one suitcase and one small box, stacked in Baekhyun’s bedroom - _their_ bedroom - waiting to be folded into the neatly cleared space in the bureau.

“Shall we?”

Yixing nodded and took hold of Baekhyun’s ankle to drag him across the couch until he was almost in Yixing’s lap.

“We shall.”

So saying, he grabbed Baekhyun by the wrists and, twisting between his legs, hauled him up onto his back as he stood from the couch. Baekhyun gave a giddy little squeak and clenched his knees around Yixing’s waist, and Yixing carried him piggyback like that across the lounge and into the bedroom.

“Whee!” Baekhyun sang as the bead curtain parted like a waterfall around his face. “Ah, I’m so tall. Is this what it’s like being Sehun?”

Yixing just laughed, and as the beads settled back into place behind them he tipped Baekhyun over his shoulder and onto the bed in a squeak of springs. Baekhyun laughed and splayed himself out like a starfish, feet flopping onto the pillows and hand dangling off the near side of the bed as he panted up at Yixing.

Then, after an interval of amused silence: “I can’t believe you don’t have to go home tonight.”

Yixing tilted his head, not quite smiling, not quite not. “I am home.”

“I know.” Baekhyun’s face split into the sunniest grin Yixing had yet seen from him. “I know!”

He bounced up off the bed and planted a kiss on Yixing’s face as he whirled past him towards the bureau.

“I made space for your clothes in these three drawers,” he said, opening each one in turn and then turning to squint at the suitcase and box stacked by the doorway. “You have more stuff than I thought, though.”

“Mr. Peterson buys me so many stuff!” Yixing lamented. “He bought me sweatshirts, jeans, T-shirts - Baekkie, do you know, back home, my father works so hard. Every day, he works hard, makes fifty dollars in one year.”

“ _Fifty dollars-_ ”

“Mr. Peterson, he took me out first day here, he spent two hundred dollars! Two hundred dollars in one day! It’s too much for me, I was feeling so bad-”

“Oh my gosh.” Baekhyun hauled the suitcase up onto the bed and popped it open. “That must have been a shock. That’s American hospitality for you, though, right?”

“Right.” Yixing nodded as he took the stack of clothes Baekhyun handed him and began to sort them into the drawers. “I know that _now_. But then? So embarrassed. _Four times_ my father’s money for a year, in one day!”

“Yeah, Thomas is rich,” Baekhyun acknowledged. “I’d probably spend twenty bucks on you.”

Yixing laughed, glancing over his shoulder to catch the glint in Baekhyun’s eye. “I like twenty bucks.”

They worked through the suitcase and the small box, refolding pants into the drawers and hanging shirts up in the closet. When the last pair of socks had been slotted away in the top drawer, Baekhyun turned and nodded at another box sitting by the door.

“What’s that one?”

“Huh?”

“That box. More clothes?”

Yixing stared blankly at the box. It was larger than the other one, and rather than having the flaps all tucked under one another it was held closed with a strip of blue tape. Yixing had never seen it before in his life.

“It’s not mine.”

“What?” Baekhyun frowned at the box. “Well it’s not _mine_.”

For a moment Yixing wondered whether he had accidentally picked up some of Mr. Peterson’s belongings and walked out with them. But no, he clearly remembered nestling the suitcase and single box together on the back seat of Baekhyun’s car, remembered glancing back at them on the way to make sure they hadn’t fallen over, remembered arriving here at the apartment where J.D. and the others were already waiting, remembered Zhixiang insisting on helping them carrying Yixing’s belongings in even though they were only packed in those two small-

“Ah.”

“What?”

Yixing squatted down and slid the box towards him. It was heavy, much heavier than clothes, and even though Yixing had no idea what was in it, he knew without a doubt who had put it there.

The tape came off easily, and Yixing folded the flaps outwards to look inside.

“What is it?” Baekhyun peered over his shoulder.

“Don’t know.” The weight of the package was hidden beneath a blue silk scarf, on top of which sat a neatly folded slip of paper.

Baekhyun reached in to pick it up, unfolded it, and baulked.

“Uh.” He held it out to Yixing. “You might have more luck with that.”

Yixing glanced at the page and laughed. “Yes. Let me read.” He ran an eye over the note. “He writes traditional characters. Give me a second.”

“Is it from-”

Yixing nodded and began to translate.

“ _Zhang Yixing and Bian Boxian-_ ” he paused, squinting at the page. “Wah. Such terrible handwriting.” He cleared his throat and began again. “ _Zhang Yixing and Bian Boxian. This has been in my room for years and I don’t use it anymore, so you can have it. It’s a too early wedding present, because you aren’t getting married yet-_ ” 

“Yet?” Baekhyun interjected. “What?”

Yixing tilted his head. “It says… Yes, says, ‘you aren’t getting married yet.’”

Baekhyun snorted. “What the hell does ‘yet’ mean? Two men getting married? To each other? Not in our lifetime.”

“I dunno,” Yixing said. “It’s what it says.”

“M’kay.” Baekhyun raised his eyebrows doubtfully, but indicated for Yixing to continue.

“ _It’s a too early wedding present, because you aren’t getting married yet, but when you do please remind me that I already give you this so that I don’t accidentally give you another present and make Yixing embarrassed._ ”

Baekhyun laughed as Yixing hid his face in his hand for a moment.

“ _I hope you will be happy living together. You deserve some happiness. You’ve worked hard. From your friend and comrade, Luo Zhixiang._ ”

“Wow.” Baekhyun hooked his chin over Yixing’s shoulder to look at the little drawing Zhixiang had doodled next to his signature, which was presumably supposed to be a face but which looked more like a pig. “That’s really sweet. What’d he give us?”

Yixing carefully untucked the scarf and pulled it out of the box.

“ _Woah!_ ” Baekhyun’s jaw hit Yixing’s shoulder. “What the _fuck-_ ”

Sitting in the box was a record player, sleek and silver beneath its tinted cover. Yixing stared at it, blinking in disbelief - there must be some mistake, it couldn’t be real, this was too much-

“Is that a Technics SL?” Baekhyun nudged Yixing aside and reached into the box to gently lift it out. “Holy shit, it is. Technics SL-1200. You know they just released a new version of this last year? This is incredible! Why did Zhixiang never tell me he had one of these?”

As Baekhyun stood up to set the player carefully on the shelf above his desk, Yixing swallowed the tightness in his throat. Even after these months, even now knowing the kind of money people had to spend on each other in America, a gift like this was a little overwhelming.

“Oh my gosh, this is the best present ever - hey. Hey!” He turned around to beam at Yixing, his eyes alight, cheeks glowing. “Is this the first thing we own together?”

Something about the corners of his smile set an affectionate warmth in Yixing’s chest. This was so much more than a record player.

“Yeah,” he said, “yes. First thing.”

Baekhyun let out a soft squeak of delight and hopped from foot to foot as he turned to unwind the player’s power cord and plug it in next to the lamp.

“Oh, I know _exactly_ what we need to play first!”

He reached over the player to fiddle some more cords into the back, then squatted down and began flicking through the records on the low shelf next to the desk. Yixing sat down on the bed, watching the tilt of Baekhyun’s head as he searched.

“Did Sehun put these back out of order again? Oh! Gotcha.” He straightened up, satisfaction evident in the roll of his shoulders, and lifted the cover of the player so he could slide the record out of its sleeve and set it on the turntable.

“What song?” Yixing asked.

“What song do you think?” Baekhyun stepped back from the player, and as the first note of a trumpet burst from the speakers he flopped onto the bed beside Yixing with a satisfied sigh.

“Ah.” Yixing lay down next to him and nudged him in the side. “Your favourite song?”

Baekhyun nodded, eyes closed and smile soft. “You know how some songs make you dance straight from your bones? No mind, just body.”

“Mhm.” Yixing kissed Baekhyun’s shoulder. “Just moving.”

“Just moving,” Baekhyun agreed.

Perhaps it was the better quality of the record compared to Baekhyun’s radio-recorded cassette. Perhaps it was the months he had now spent here in America. Whatever the reason, when the silver women began to sing their voices resolved from a wall of language into actual words.

_“Nobody gets too much heaven no more,_ __  
_It’s much harder to come by, I’m waiting in line._ __  
_Nobody gets too much love anymore,_ _  
_ _It’s as high as a mountain and harder to climb…”_

The muscles of Baekhyun’s arm were shifting under Yixing’s lips, twitching and clenching in minute movements as though the music would not let him lie still. He was humming under his breath, and as the music swelled all the air in his body seemed to stop, teetering for a second before shivering out in a sigh.

“God,” he whispered. “I swear, Barry Gibb is like Disco Jesus.”

Yixing made an amused noise in the back of his throat. “Jesus is a man.”

Baekhyun chuckled and turned his head to peer down at Yixing, who was resting against his bicep. “So’s Barry Gibb.”

“… Huh?” Yixing was confused. Was Baekhyun not talking about this music?

With a good-natured snicker, Baekhyun sat up and slid off the bed to grab the record sleeve from the desk.

“Look.”

_Bee Gees - Too Much Heaven_ , read the title, and Yixing nodded - this seemed to be the song. The album cover, though, was a photo of three men.

“Hm?”

Baekhyun tapped the man in the centre. “Barry.” The man on the right. “Maurice.” The man on the left. “Robin. The brothers Gibb, a.k.a. the Bee Gees.”

Yixing blinked at them, struggling to wrap his brain around what he was seeing. These were the owners of the silvery voices. Long, flowing hair notwithstanding, the beards did not lie - the beautiful women with whom he’d been so enamoured had been men all along.

“Wow,” he murmured. “All the time… I love men.”

Baekhyun laughed and fell back onto the bed with a snort. “Fuck. Title of my autobiography right there.”

Yixing had heard that word from him a few times over the past few months, but he hadn’t been able to find it in the dictionary - largely because he hadn’t been able to work out how to spell it.

“What is autobiography?”

“It’s when a person writes about their own life,” Baekhyun said, “it’s basically a book telling their life story.”

“Oh, okay. You’re going to write one?”

Baekhyun shrugged, hands behind his head. “Maybe, one day.”

Yixing hummed and settled into Baekhyun’s side with an arm across his waist.

_“We can turn away from the night and day,_ __  
_And the tears we had to cry._ _  
_ _You’re my life…”_

“Will I be in your autobiography?” Yixing wondered.

“Oh yes.” Baekhyun kissed the top of his head, his hand settling soft on Yixing’s back and beginning to stroke in tiny circles between his shoulder blades. “Very prominently.”

“Prominently?”

“It means you’re a very important character. I’ll spend a lot of the story talking about you.”

“Hmmm.” Yixing wrapped that warmth around himself and hid a smile in Baekhyun’s chest. “How much of the story will I be in?”

“Well…” Baekhyun considered it. “You’ll probably be introduced somewhere around chapter four.”

Yixing found his fingers walking across Baekhyun’s chest, moving, just moving, without conscious thought, until they were resting directly over his heart and dancing in tiny circles to each beat.

_“Love is such a beautiful thing…”_

“Chapter four,” he said. “How many chapters will there be after that?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Baekhyun murmured.

Yixing looked up at him, fingers faltering, eyebrows raised. For a moment Baekhyun just stared at him, and then a smile flickered through his cheeks and he leaned forward to cup a hand behind Yixing’s head and kiss the sunlight into his mouth.

“Doesn’t matter,” he repeated, soft against Yixing’s lips. “You’ll be in all of them.”

_FIN_


End file.
